


Nothing Can Keep Us Apart

by TeddysHoney



Series: In Every Lifetime [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Death Sentence, Engagement, Escape, Forced Labor, Forced Marriage, M/M, Malnourishment, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character Death, Physical Abuse, Prison, Prisoner of War, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reunions, Rimming, Roughing It, Sexy Times, Soulmates, Stabbing, Stealing, Trapped, Unhealthy Father/Son Relationship, War, War wounds, elope, king!Burt, married!klaine, not Burt friendly, outlaw!Klaine, peasant!Blaine, prince!Blaine, prince!Kurt, ultimatum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddysHoney/pseuds/TeddysHoney
Summary: Blaine is a Prince...well, he used to be. Now, he's just a lowly Peasant living in the city of Hucal, a kingdom under the rule of the man who ordered his father to be killed. Unexpectedly, Blaine falls in love with a boy, a boy who should be far, far out of his reach. And just as he thinks that things are looking up for him, Hucal goes to war, and Blaine must fight. Will he make it home? Will he get to marry his soulmate? Will they have their happily ever after?
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Burt Hummel/Kurt's Mother, Pam Anderson/Blaine's Father
Series: In Every Lifetime [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591516
Comments: 51
Kudos: 46
Collections: Blaine Big Bang 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> You guys! I am so thrilled to finally be able to post this story! It's been a long time coming, but I'm so happy that it's here!  
> Of course, I have to give so many thanks to my fantastic friend and beta, JayhawkWrites. Without her, this story would not be anything like I ever imagined, and I cannot brag about her enough. She's phenomenal!  
> I also have to thank my awesome, awesome artist, Riverance. Her art is beautiful, and I absolutely love it! It illustrates one of my favorite parts of the story! You'll find her art piece in Chapter 4, Uneven Ground.  
> Story title is taken from the song Rewrite the Stars from The Greatest Showman.  
> Warning for minor character death in this chapter.  
> Any and all translations in this fic can be found in the end notes. :)

Blaine stood with his back pressed against the solid wood of his wardrobe. He tried to quiet his breathing and heartbeat as he strained to hear what was going on outside of his room. He could hear the sounds of swords clashing as his father's knights fought against the invading cavalry. He wondered where his father, mother, and older brother were. He wished he could be with them, but it was too risky to try to leave the safety of his wardrobe. His father had told him to hide, so he was going to be a good boy and follow directions.

*****

It had been a perfectly normal morning, or so it seemed to the eight-year-old. Blaine had come down to breakfast with his family, and his father had asked him about his fighting lessons. Blaine had rattled on and on about how much fun he was having learning from Master Schue and how he couldn’t wait to get to fight with a real sword instead of a wooden one. His father had smiled over his cup of tea, enjoying his son’s antics. Then, after a giant breakfast of porridge and peaches, Blaine had gone out into the courtyard with one of his father's knights for his fencing lesson.

“Where's Master Schue?” he'd asked as he thrust his small wooden sword at the man he was training with.

“He and your father had some business to attend to, Your Highness,” the knight had explained. He had expertly knocked Blaine's sword from his hand, sending it crashing into the dirt.

Blaine had frowned at this news. Master Schue never missed a lesson, nearly as excited as Blaine to teach the young Prince how to fight. But, he'd shrugged it off, retrieving his sword. His father had been very busy lately, though with what, Blaine didn’t know. Perhaps he'd just needed some help from Master Schue, and that’s why he was missing their lesson. It wasn't until his father had come running out of the castle that he'd known something was amiss.

“Go,” his father had shouted to the knight, frantically waving him away. “Master Schue is at the gate. He needs you!”

The knight had run off at a sprint, and his father had grabbed Blaine by the upper arm, pulling his hurriedly toward the castle doors.

“Father,” Blaine had whined, trying to pull out of his grasp. “You're hurting me, Father!”

“Quiet!” his father had hissed, his eyes flashing with an emotion Blaine couldn’t read as he dragged him down the long hall toward the throne room. He stopped suddenly, whispering in a panicked voice, “I need you to listen to me, Blaine. Can you do that?” He'd knelt on the floor in front of his son, looking him directly in the eye. He’d wondered if this would be the last conversation they’d ever have, and he took a moment to really look at his son’s face. He had wanted to remember Blaine. Always.

Blaine had nodded. His father was clearly serious.

“We are being invaded. I need you to find your mother and brother. They're in th--”

He had been cut off by a servant rushing up to them. “I'm sorry to interrupt, My King,” the servant had panted, “but you're needed at the gate. Master Schue sent me.”

The King had nodded, giving Blaine a firm kiss on the forehead. “I love you,” he had whispered before rising and hurrying after the distraught servant. “Hide, Blaine,” his father had called back over his shoulder. “Don't come out until your mother or I come for you.”

“I love you, too,” Blaine had whispered and then sprinted to his room as fast as his little legs would carry him, following his father’s orders.

*****

So, that's what Blaine was doing. He had run to his bedroom and hidden behind his clothes. The sounds of fighting were growing louder, so he pressed back into the corner of the wardrobe, desperate to keep out of sight. He was sure he'd be safe if he could just stay hidden and not make any noise. No one would suspect him to be hiding in his wardrobe. They'd never check there.

Blaine listened to the shouts coming from the castle hallway as someone nearby battled an enemy soldier. He wondered who it was and wished, not for the first time that day, that he was old enough to fight. He had been so jealous when his father had allowed his older brother, Cooper, to fight in his first battle. Blaine wanted to fight. He wanted to swing a mighty sword, knock an enemy from his horse, and win his first battle. He wanted his father to be proud of him. But, his father had said he wasn't old enough; he had too much to learn still. “Soon,” his father had told him when he’d begged to be in a fight. “Soon, my son.”

A final scream sounded from the hallway, and a body hit the floor. Then, silence. Blaine breathed a sigh of relief. That must have been the end of the battle. He wasn't sure how long he'd been hiding in his wardrobe, but he'd been listening to the crash of swords and the stomp of boots the entire time. The silence was welcome. He crept toward the front of his wardrobe again. His father had said to wait for someone to find him, but he was sure that peeking out would be okay.

Just as he was about to open the door, he spotted movement through the crack between the doors. He held his breath, waiting to see if there was any more movement. Surely it was his father coming to look for him, but he had to make certain. He could see shadows moving along his floor, but he couldn't make out the person. Then, he heard a gruff voice speak in a funny language he'd never heard.

“ _ Jin rakh _ ,” the voice said. “ _ She hazze _ .”

A sense of foreboding came over Blaine as he heard these words, even though he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it. There were some heavy footfalls across the floor before a large, looming figure appeared in the crack in the wardrobe doors, blocking out almost all of the light.

Blaine bit the sleeve of his tunic as he tried not to scream in fright. Someone had found him, and it was definitely NOT his father. As quickly and quietly as he could, he tucked himself back into the dark corner of the wardrobe, hoping that they wouldn't notice him.

The doors of the wardrobe opened suddenly, and light flooded in. Blaine blinked as his eyes adjusted, but he didn't dare move.

The large, gruff man standing in front of the wardrobe turned his gaze on the small boy huddled in the corner, and a large grin grew on his face. He chuckled loudly. “I see you,” he growled.

Blaine thought the soldier looked like some sort of wild man. The lower half of his face was covered in wiry brown hair, his beard and mustache both long and scraggly. He had a crazed look in his eye as he glared at Blaine, and a shiver of fear ran down the young boy's back. Something had gone terribly wrong while he had been hiding. Where was his father?

“Com'ere boy,” the man growled, reaching into the wardrobe and pulling Blaine out with a sharp jerk.

“No! No! No!” Blaine shouted, trying his best to wrench himself free from the soldier's grip. “Let me go! My father is the King. He'll have you--”

“The 'king' is dead,” the man spat, letting Blaine fall unceremoniously onto his butt as he let go of his arm. “He's dead, so he'll be havin' me do nothin'.” He laughed again, this time turning toward another man standing in Blaine's chambers.

“No. That's not possible,” Blaine protested, reasoning only the way a child could. “My father's an excellent fighter! He can't be dead.”

“Killed ‘im myself,” the soldier said, getting right in Blaine's face. “He's lying dead in front of his castle just like the rest of his sorry men. I'll show ya,” he said, seeming to delight in this fact and the horror that was painted on the boy’s face.

At that, Blaine burst into noisy tears, unable to contain his shock and panic anymore. It couldn't be true! His father couldn't be dead! He'd promised to come for Blaine. He'd promised! Blaine couldn't think about it anymore, and he curled up into a ball, crying desperately into his hands.

The second man looked miffed, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Cut it out, Gifford,” he said. “Our orders were to find the boy and take him out front, not taunt him.”

“I'm just havin' a bit o' fun,” Gifford said, scooping Blaine up off the floor and tossing him casually over his shoulder. “Didn't say we couldn't have any fun.”

“Just take him out to his mother,” the other man replied, stomping out of Blaine's chambers and down the hallway. “Let's get this over with.”

Gifford followed his fellow soldier, and Blaine continued to sob, hands covering his face even as he hung partway down the large soldier's back. They marched through the halls of the castle and out the front gate to where a crowd of soldiers from the neighboring kingdom of Hucal were gathered in a large circle. In the middle of the circle, the former queen of Adrison and her eldest son stood huddled together, asking for Blaine over and over again.

At the sound of his mother's voice, Blaine began to wiggle, desperate to get away from the monster carrying him. As soon as he was set down, he raced to his mother's side, hugging her tightly as tears continued to fall down his face.

“My son,” Queen Pamalyn cried, bending down and hugging him close to her. “Are you hurt?”

“F-f-f-father,” Blaine sputtered.

“I know. I know,” she murmured, running her fingers through his dark curls as she hugged him against her. “I know.” It was difficult for her to speak as she thought of her late husband. She’d caught a glimpse of his body as she had been dragged from the castle, and, if she stood on tiptoe, she could just make him out, lying in the dust. She knew she needed to chin up for her sons, though. There would be time for tears later.

A young, handsome knight with highly decorated armor stepped into the middle of the circle, clearing his throat loudly. “Excuse me,” he said, unsure of what to call the former royalty standing before him. “I am Sir Hamlin, Royal Constable for King Burt of Hucal. As subjects of His Royal Highness, you are hereby stripped of your title and status, and you will be escorted to Hucal immediately. There has been a small cottage erected near the castle there that His Majesty has requested be given to you.”

“We don't need your charity,” Prince Cooper spat. He reached for his sword, forgetting his weapon had been taken from him when he was captured. He huffed. “You may think you've won, but you haven't. I will defeat you.”

The constable couldn't help but snort at that. “You would do well to refrain from speaking that way, young man. If His Majesty sees you as a threat, you  _ will  _ be eliminated.”

Blaine, upon hearing this, left his mother's side and ran to his brother, wrapping himself around his waist. “Leave him alone,” Blaine demanded, his voice sounding small and weak from crying.

Cooper patted his back. “Don't worry, little brother. I'll be fine.”

Blaine didn't reply, hiding his face against his brother's leg. He'd already lost his father. He couldn't lose his brother to these monsters as well.

Ignoring the young boy's outburst, the constable continued. “You will be given a few possessions when we get back to Hucal, clothing and food. His Majesty wishes you well in your new life.” The constable all but snickered as he said this, turning his back to the former royals so they wouldn't see his smile. “Men,” he instructed instead, “let's show His Majesty's newest subjects to their...humble abode.”

Quickly, the soldiers lined up on either side of the disgraced royalty, one flank falling to the rear and another leading the way so that a small box was formed around them, making it impossible for them to escape even if they thought they could. A few of the mounted knights, as well as the constable, led the way on their horses.

Blaine held onto his mother’s hand as they began to move away from the castle, the only place he had ever called home. His grip on her hand became even tighter the further they got. The forest, which he'd never been in before, was dark and scary. The trees were so tall that they blotted out most of the sun, and they stood so close to one another that the forest seemed to be a never-ending maze that one could easily get lost in. His stomach began to hurt then, and he realized just how miserable he was. He began to whimper and cry again, leaning into his mother's side as he stumbled along beside her. He missed his father, his sword, and his home.

“Hush,  _ salen lyth _ ,” Pamalyn said, stroking a gentle hand up and down her son's back. “We're almost there.” She hummed to him for a while, and her gentle voice helped to calm his very frayed nerves.

Blaine marveled at his mother as they walked. Despite what they were going through, she still looked like a beautiful Queen. She strode along, her body in perfect form, not a hair out of place. She still looked radiant and commanding, and Blaine was proud of her. His brother, on the other hand, was sulking. He walked along, sometimes with a look of determination on his face, sometimes disgust, and sometimes pure rage. He often kicked at the dust and pebbles as they wound through the seemingly continuous expanse of trees.

After what seemed like an eternity to Blaine, they stopped to eat. The soldiers around them seemed to be quite weary from marching, and Blaine was glad to be able to drop down on the edge of the path and rub at his sore feet as the constable passed out hunks of bread and cheese. A small stream was located nearby, and the ex-royals were accompanied to the banks of the stream to get water. After they ate, Blaine curled up in his mother's lap, leaning into her warm, familiar figure. He was so tired. He let his eyes slip shut for a few moments, though he felt like he shouldn't. He needed to be ready when it was time to march again.

He thought about his father. What would he say if he saw them like this, moping around and crying? No doubt he would tell Blaine that he was much too old to be sleeping on his mother's lap.

_ “If you're going to run a kingdom someday,”  _ his father would say, _ “you need to become a strong man. You need to learn to fight to protect your kingdom and your mate.” _

Sleeping on his mother was not going to make him strong enough to protect anyone. But, even as Blaine made to slide off of her lap, Pamalyn wrapped her arms a little tighter around his waist, keeping him there. Maybe she needed him as much as he needed her right then.

At some point, Blaine drifted off to sleep, and he was startled awake by shouting all around him.

“He's gone!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Should we go after him, Sir Hamlin?”

“Mother,” Blaine whined, rubbing at his eyes, “what's happening?”

“It's your brother,  _ salen lyth _ ,” she whispered. “He's run away.”

“Coop?” Blaine sat up, fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Mother, we have to find him. I need him!”

His mother shook her head sadly. “He's gone,” she said. “It's better for him.”

“Mother, I need him,” Blaine insisted, standing up and pulling at her arm to get her up as well. “I need him!” He could feel his heart breaking for the second time that day. He’d already lost his father, and now his brother was gone. This was more than he could take. He wasn’t strong enough for this.

“Let him go,” Sir Hamlin told his soldiers. “He won't last long in the forest.” He chuckled. “Come on, men. Marching formation.”

The soldiers around him began to gather their things, forming a secure box around the last two fallen royalty once more.

“Mother,” Blaine whined, more tears pricking at the back of his eyelids. “Mo--” But he couldn't finish what he was saying because the tears began to fall again. He clutched at her dress, burying his face into the lush folds of fabric.

Pamalyn rubbed her son's back, letting him cry for a few moments before she pried his hands away from her waist, kneeling in the dust before him. “ _ Salen lyth _ ,” she said, tilting his chin until his teary eyes met hers. “It will be okay,” she promised. “We will be fine. You will be the man of the family, my  _ ni coronal _ .” She kissed the top of his head. “Be strong, Blaine. Courage.” She smiled gently at him.

With a watery smile in response, Blaine nodded. “I will be strong, Mother. I'll protect you.” He swiped the backs of his hands against his cheeks, whisking away the remains of his tears.

“There's my boy,” she said, patting the top of his head. “Let's go home.”

Blaine felt like crying again at the mention of going home, but he raised his chin in determination. If this was what the Hucal soldiers wanted, he would go with dignity like his mother. That would make his father proud.

Pamalyn smiled at her son as they stood in the center of the protected box and began their journey to the Kingdom of Hucal. She watched Blaine’s little body as he walked. He stood taller now, less defeated, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. They might be disgraced now, but someday, her son would win. Someday, somehow, he'd get back the dignity that the Hucal soldiers had stolen from them. And more than anything, Pamalyn wanted to be there when he did.


	2. Water from the Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for physical abuse in this chapter.

The sun was already burning when Blaine stepped up to the well to fill his buckets with water early that morning. It was sure to be another scorching day in Hucal. He heaved a sigh as he thought about how many more trips he'd have to make to the well that day. He'd need to make at least two more for his mother before he could go to the farm. Blaine never knew how many buckets of water Farmer Wilkie would need; it always seemed to depend on if he was in the mood to torture Blaine or not.

As he hauled the first full bucket up by the thick rope attached to it, he thought about how much his life had changed in the past ten years. He'd once been a happy child in his father's castle. He'd taken fencing lessons, archery lessons, and had begun to learn how to read and write. His father had been proud of his progress and had told him he'd make a wonderful king someday. Now, his father was dead, and Blaine was working for the angriest farmer in all of the horrible kingdom he had been exiled to.

His brother was still missing. Blaine had convinced himself years ago that his brother had perished somewhere in the woods, likely eaten by wolves. Though it pained him to think about that possibility, he found that it was easier to stomach than the constant worry that had eaten away at him for the first few years he and his mother had lived in Hucal. He'd spent much of his days then wondering where his brother was, if he was okay, and if he'd ever come back for his family. Now, most days, whenever Cooper would appear in his mind's eye, Blaine would mumble a few words to himself about how much he loved Cooper and hoped he'd see him again some day. Then, he'd move on. That was just how it had to be, because if he allowed himself to get caught up in the ‘what-ifs’ of it all, he’d never be able to focus on much of anything else.

Blaine carefully unhooked and moved the full bucket to the ground before lowering the empty one. He glanced toward the sky as he let it sink into the well. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. They really needed some rain. Farmer Wilkie's crops were beginning to wilt, and if they didn't get a decent harvest, Blaine and his mother would have to beg or starve. They no longer had anything of value to trade and had to rely solely on the cantankerous old farmer. He shuddered at the thought of it coming to that. This was the closest he'd ever come to not being able to provide for them. The thought of failure was terrifying. He dragged his gaze away from the sky, letting it pass quickly over the castle in jealousy. Just as he heard the bucket hit the water below, something caught his eye, and he let go of the crank for just a moment, sucking in a deep breath of air at what he saw.

Standing on the balcony of the castle was the most beautiful boy that Blaine had ever seen. Though he had to squint against the bright rays of sun, Blaine could make out the pale skin of the boy, a dark head of hair, and the brightest smile he'd ever seen. His head was angled toward the ground, cocked slightly to the left. It looked as though the boy was watching him. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, Blaine could just make out that the boy was dressed in the deep purple robes the royal family of Hucal wore. A crown graced his head, and he stood straight and regal on the balcony, the railing around it hiding him from the waist down. Was he watching Blaine?

Blaine got his answer, because a moment later, the boy startled and darted out of sight, knowing he’d been caught staring. Going back to what he was doing, Blaine intermittently glanced up at the balcony, wondering if the boy would reappear.

Despite knowing nothing about him other than what he had seen that morning, Blaine couldn't seem to get him out of his head. As he carried his buckets back and forth from his mother's simple cottage to the well, he kept seeing the beautiful porcelain-skinned boy in his head. He was clearly the Prince, and Blaine knew that meant he could never have him; he let himself fantasize anyway, though. He was nothing more than a poor peasant now; he'd be lucky to ever find a partner.

He and his mother had only been living in Hucal for a few years when Blaine finally came to terms with the fact that he wasn't like most young boys in the village. He had no desire to run around chasing after girls. For starters, he had to work every day just to put a meager loaf of bread and a pail of milk on the table for their supper. But, despite that, girls were not...interesting to him. He much preferred to watch the other boys. He admired their strong, well-built frames and their rippling muscles. Even at a young age, he could see himself spending his life with another boy, sharing his innermost thoughts and feelings, living together, kissing. The idea of doing the same things with a girl felt...wrong. But, Blaine kept his revelation to himself. He'd never met another boy who felt that way about boys, and he and his mother were already shunned. Their prior status was no secret to anyone in the village and often earned them disgusted looks and the occasional spitball.

So, Blaine let his mind indulge in a few fantasies about the Prince throughout the day. He kept hoping to catch another glimpse of him, always checking the balcony each time he returned to the well. However, the boy never came back, and Blaine got lost in thought about him. He pretended that, despite his father's cruelness to Blaine's own family, the Prince of Hucal was actually very sweet. He imagined that he must smell like roses and how wonderful it would be to breathe that scent in as the beautiful boy kissed his lips, his neck, his shoulders. He imagined his undoubtedly soft hands roaming all over his body, sliding up and down his chest and arms with a touch as gentle as a cloud. He thought so deeply about how perfect this Prince must be that he nearly stumbled over Farmer Wilkie when finally arrived at the farm later that morning.

“Watch where you're going, boy,” the old farmer spat, rising up from the ground where he'd been examining one of his scythes.

“I-I'm sorry, sir,” Blaine said, stepping back just a bit as the farmer got very close to his face. He could feel his rancid, wet breath on his cheeks.

“You will be,” Wilkie growled. “I need 12 buckets of water today. Get started. When you're done with that, you can pull weeds.”

Blaine sighed as he grabbed the poll and buckets from the corner of the rickety shed that Wilkie kept them in. Clearly, the farmer was not in the mood to be nice today.

“What was that, boy?” Wilkie suddenly asked loudly, right in Blaine's ear. “Complaining about the work, are you?”

“N-no, sir,” Blaine said, startled. “I'm sorry. I was just--”

“You will be sorry,” Wilkie interrupted him. “Maybe I should--”

Blaine didn't let him finish his thought. Wilkie would beat Blaine at the drop of a hat, and he was desperate to avoid it as often as he could. “I'm really sorry, sir. I'm off to get water, and then I'll do the weeding.” He hurried off to collect his first round of water before Wilkie could think of any other ways to punish him.

The monotony of carrying water soon got to Blaine, and he found his mind wandering again. He imagined the Prince, but this time, the two of them were ruling. Blaine had been reinstated as the King of Adrison and together with the Prince, they ruled the two kingdom's peacefully. A small smile grew on his face as he thought of it, how nice it would be to have a plush bed, delicious food, servants, friends, and power. He knew he could never have it, just like he could never have the Prince. But it didn’t stop him from dreaming.

Being so caught up in his fantasy world was not a good idea, however. Blaine found himself making mistake after mistake as he went about his chores. The worst part of it all was that Wilkie was noticing, too. On his second trip back to the farm, Blaine spilled nearly all the water in his buckets after tripping over a rock in the path that he didn't see and he got a disapproving glare from the old man. When he walked straight into Wilkie on his fifth trip back to the well because he wasn't watching where he was going, Wilkie yelled at him, sending spittle flying all over his face. When he began pulling out a handful of wheat stalks instead of the weeds because his mind was somewhere else, Wilkie yelled again, this time leaving Blaine with a large pink handprint on his left cheek.

The final straw, however, was when Wilkie called for Blaine to help him, and the boy didn't come. There was nothing the curmudgeonly old man hated more than not being listened to. So, when Blaine didn't come to him immediately, he ran to the field, seething. “Where are you, boy?” he hissed. He crept along the edge of the field like a cat waiting to pounce. Then, he finally saw Blaine crouched next to some weeds down one of the wheat rows. He wasn't doing anything, just staring blankly up at the clouds. The farmer charged in. “Get up!” he screamed at him.

Blaine started, fear immediately taking over his features. “S-sir?” he asked.

“Get. Up,” the old man repeated, louder and with much more force.

On shaky knees, Blaine got to his feet. The old man grabbed him by the ear and began to drag him away from the field. Blaine knew this wasn't going to end well. He could tell by the way that Wilkie was stalking toward the rickety old shed that this was likely going to end in a beating for him. The shed was where Wilkie always beat him the worst. He had no idea what this was about, but he was sure that Wilkie would let him know in no uncertain terms. 

Blaine barely made it into the shed before Wilkie was turning on him, a leather strap he kept conveniently by the door in his hand, swinging wildly in Blaine's direction.

“I don't know what's gotten into you today, boy, but I'm not going to let this go!” Wilkie shouted, repeatedly swinging the strap at Blaine's chest and shoulders. “I'll beat the disobedience out of you!”

Thankfully, Blaine was a pretty good dodger. He stepped backward a bit to avoid the slaps of the strap. He couldn't avoid all of them, but most of the swings sliced through thin air. “Sir, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, sir!” he cried, trying to get the old man to hear him over his own yelling.

“You're always sorry when you get a beatin',” the old man hissed, taking a step closer. “But, then you turn around and prove that you're a brainless lump who hasn't learned anything.” With that, he stopped talking and concentrated on hitting Blaine wherever he could reach him. Now that Wilkie had backed him into a corner, all the poor boy could do was cower and take it.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes, the old man stopped. He turned abruptly on his heel and hung the strap back up on the wall. “Get out,” he told Blaine. “Go home. No pay today.” He turned back and crossed his arms, waiting for Blaine to obey.

“But, sir, I--”

When Wilkie reached for the strap again, Blaine immediately shut up and walked out, back down the dusty trail toward the village as quickly as he could. Guilt, shame, and fear filled his gut all at the same time, making it hard for him to breathe. He thought he was going to vomit. Blaine wasn't sure exactly what he'd done to make Wilkie so violent this time, and he sincerely felt badly for the blunders he'd made that day. He knew he'd been on the farmer's bad side since he'd shown up that morning, and his bad mood had only increased the more Blaine kept daydreaming and messing up. He couldn't shake the guilty feeling as he walked, and he dragged his feet a bit. He didn't want to face his mother, but he had no where else to go. He just knew she'd be disappointed; that felt worse than any beating Wilkie could ever give him.

When he entered their cottage, his mother looked up from where she'd been doing some mending. “Blaine,” she said, confused and not yet noticing the red mark across the left side of his face, “you're home early.”

Blaine looked down at his feet, the toe of his boot scuffing against the dirt floor of their cottage. “Yes,” he said. “Wilkie sent me home early.”

“Why?”

“I—um...” Blaine couldn't quite bring himself to tell her.

His mother raised an eyebrow at him. “Go on,” she prompted him, knowing that something had happened that her son was reluctant to tell her.

“I...wasn't really paying attention today,” he admitted. “I messed up.”

“Blaine,” Pamalyn sighed. She loved her son, but sometimes, he made such unwise choices. A part of her wanted to be mad at him, but she could clearly tell that he felt guilty for it already. Another part of her wanted to let it go since he had had to grow up so quickly and in such horrible circumstances. Still, she couldn't help but lecture just a little bit. “Wilkie is a hard man to work for,” she said gently, hoping not to hurt her son too much more with her words. “But, he pays you so we can eat and have somewhere to live. You have to do your best when you're there.”

Blaine swallowed hard, nodding. His mother was right, and he knew it. It was almost more painful to have her point it out to him, though. “I'm sorry,” he told her. “I'll do better tomorrow.”

“Good boy,” she crooned. “Can you collect some firewood? I'll need to start the soup soon.”

Blaine nodded silently and turned, heading back out the door. This time, he didn't let himself get caught up in a fantasy in his head. This time, when images of the beautiful Prince started to dance through his head, he pushed them away like he always did when Cooper entered his mind, and was wholly focused on his tasks. He was going to help his mother and make up for his blunders. Tomorrow, he would go back to the farm and help Wilkie. Those fantasies were not going to get him anywhere. He couldn't be a king or a prince again. That part of his life was over, and he needed to accept it, starting right now.

So, he spent the rest of the evening helping his mother. As he was stoking the fire, Pamalyn noticed the red mark on his cheek. In a hushed tone, she told him how sorry she was that he had to deal with Wilkie, and she silently vowed that somehow, she’d get the old farmer back. Helping Blaine out of his shirt, she gasped at the red marks that criss crossed his chest, shoulders, and upper back. Singing a lullaby from his childhood, she used a cloth and cool water to help soothe the pain. “I love you,  _ ni coronal _ ,” she whispered in his ear. Then, the two of them made their soup together, something they hadn't done since Blaine was quite young. Pamalyn laughed and sang as they worked, and Blaine was reminded of the first few weeks after they came to Hucal. Despite being upset about the loss of her husband, his mother had tried to make things seem as happy and normal as she could for him, and he loved her for it. 

When they’d gotten to their new home, his mother hadn't known anything about cooking or sewing, and there had been no one to teach her. The village hadn't accepted them very readily; the villagers knew who they were, and they hated them. Well, most of them hated them. So, Pamalyn had been left on her own to learn how to cook and mend. They needed money, and Blaine wasn't yet big enough or strong enough to work. A few of the kinder villagers would leave little gifts of food or clothes on their doorstep. One even offered to pay Pamalyn to help with milking their cows, but living had been hard for the first little while. So, to fill their home with some sort of happiness as she struggled to learn a skill, Pamalyn would sing. She would sing traditional songs in her native language, and Blaine thought they were the most beautiful things he'd ever heard. Her voice was sweet and clear, ringing like a silver bell through their small cottage. Blaine could remember curling up in the corner on their shared sleeping mat and watching her across the room as she stirred something in a pot over the fire or cut vegetables at the table or tried to sew. Though that had been a very difficult time in their lives, the memories of his mother singing were some of the best memories Blaine had, and ones he kept coming back to when he needed something happy to focus on.

It was those memories that kept him up that night, long after his mother had gone to bed. He sat next to the fire, looking into the flames, remembering. This wasn't the type of life he'd wanted to make for his mother. He'd known that living in Hucal would be hard, but he'd never imagined they'd be living constantly on the brink of starvation. He'd wanted her to be comfortable and happy. As soon as his mother would allow it, Blaine had gotten a job, working as hard as he could to provide for them so his mother could rest. He felt a bit like a failure that their lives hadn’t really improved, though. So, he sat staring into the fire, thinking and feeling sorry for himself.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

Blaine startled.  _ Who would be calling at this time of night? _ He looked curiously at the door.  _ Maybe it had been a mistake. _ When another loud rap came again, he glanced quickly at his mother. She hadn't stirred, still sound asleep. It wasn't a mistake, apparently. At the third harsh knock, he got up and hurried to the door. He didn't want anyone waking up his mother. His heart skipped a quick beat. Had Cooper come for them?

He was completely unprepared for the amount of skipping his heart did when he pulled open the door to find the beautiful Prince standing on his doorstep. His eyes grew wide, and he stepped back, utterly and completely shocked. 

“Hello,” the boy said. “I'm sure you're very surprised to see me after this morning. I need to speak with you, but not here.”

Blaine was so surprised that he didn't know what to say. So, instead, he shut the door in the boy's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: ****ni coronal = little king (Elvish)


	3. Meeting the Prince

Blaine was in shock. How had the beautiful boy found him? He was standing at Blaine's doorstep , trying to talk to him, and it just didn't make sense. It was as if all of his fantasies from the day were coming true. But they couldn't be. It wasn't possible.

It wasn't until there was another knock on the door that Blaine realized he'd shut it in the boy's face. Hurriedly, he swung it open to see the boy standing there, fist raised to knock again.

The boy flashed him a confused look as he lowered his arm. “I'm...not sure why you did that,” he said, “but like I told you, I really need to talk to you. We can't talk here, though. So, follow me.” He spun around and took a few determined steps away from the cottage, then turned to look over his shoulder.

Blaine was still standing next to the open door, mouth hanging wide open.

The Prince sighed and walked the few steps back to the cottage. “Come on.” This time, he grabbed Blaine's hand and drug him out the door and down the path, toward the edge of town. 

Once they were outside his cottage, Blaine regained enough of his senses to start asking questions. “Wh-where are you taking me?” he asked. “Who-who are you?”

“I'll explain in a minute,” the boy hissed over his shoulder. “We just have to get somewhere safe first.”

So, Blaine followed along behind the boy as he was pulled down the path toward the edge of the forest. He marveled at how soft the boy's hand felt in his, how warm it was. It was exactly how he imagined it would be. He didn't usually want to hold hands with boys he'd never met, but for some reason, Blaine didn't really feel like letting go of the pale boy's hand. 

Finally, they reached the forest, and the Prince pulled them off of the trail, walking deeper into the woods until the trees became closer together, and it was so dark that Blaine could barely see his own hand in front of his face. Suddenly, the boy came to a stop, causing Blaine to nearly run into him. The boy turned toward Blaine but didn't look at him, staring toward the ground. “My name is Kurt,” he said quietly. “I'm the Prince of Hucal, next in line for my father's throne.”

“I know,” Blaine replied breathily “Well, I didn't know your name was Kurt, but I knew that you're the Prince.”

“How?” Blaine could hear the confusion in Kurt's voice. 

“I saw you this morning, while I was drawing water.” A tiny smile formed on his face at the memory. “It was easy to put two and two together. And I’m pretty sure you noticed me as well.” 

Kurt was silent for a moment. He sat down on the ground with his back against a tree. “I've seen you nearly every morning,” he admitted softly. “For years.”

“I'm sorry?” Blaine asked, sinking down against his own tree, facing Kurt.

“I've been watching you for years,” Kurt said, voice barely above a whisper. “One morning, I-I looked out my window, and there you were. I don't know where you'd been all that time, but I knew that I had to see you again. So, I watched every single morning for you to come to the well for water. You always came. You were,” he trailed off, “you  _ are  _ beautiful.”

“What took you so long to find me then?” Blaine asked, uncomfortable with the intimacy of the moment. “You could have found me whenever you wanted.”

Kurt scoffed, bitter. “Ha! Sure. Because the Prince is going to be allowed to be seen with a peasant boy.” There was a long pause, then, thoughtfully, “You know, I don't even know your name.”

“Blaine. My name's Blaine.”

“Blaine…” Kurt said his name like it was a delicacy. “Perfect name for a perfect boy.”

Blaine thought he could hear a tiny sigh come from Prince Kurt, but he wasn't sure.

There was more silence as each boy thought about everything they'd learned in such a short time. “So, why now?” Blaine finally broke the tense silence. “What made you decide you could see me now?”

“My father,” Kurt sighed, irritation evident in his voice. “He thinks I need to be married off, and he's ready to set me up with someone. But, what he doesn't know is that I'm not doing it.” There was finality in his voice. “I promised myself I'd only marry for love.” He thought about all of the songs he’d heard and books he’d read that described a perfect romantic life. He wanted nothing less for himself, and he was determined to have his fairytale.

“And you...love  _ me _ ?” Blaine asked. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. He'd only just met the Prince a few moments ago, and he was already talking about love? Did Kurt even know who he was, who he used to be?

“I...I don't know.” Kurt let out a sad sigh. “I think I could. Something about seeing you at the well...I feel like I already know you, but...” He trailed off for a few seconds, then whined, “Being the Prince is so hard!”

Blaine was about to open his mouth to tell him that being a peasant was no walk in the park either, but Kurt kept talking.

“When you're royalty, everyone is always watching you. Always! They expect you to behave a certain way and say certain things. I hate it! I hate being the Prince! I want the freedom to be whoever I want to be, do whatever I want to do. I would give anything to be like you, Blaine,” Kurt said loudly, tossing his head dramatically to the side, groping through the dark for Blaine's hand. “I know you don't know what it's like to be royalty, but trust me, it's not worth it.”

“Um, Kurt, I have to--” Blaine started, only to be cut off.

“Do you get to go to work, Blaine? What's it like to have a job, to do actual, physical work?” Kurt prattled on, not actually hearing Blaine’s attempt to tell him something.

“It's, uh, okay, I guess?” Blaine said. He wasn't sure how to answer that question. “But, Kurt, I—”

“Don't you just feel so free?” Kurt asked him, not letting him say anything. “No one's watching you, telling you you can't do the things you want to do.”

“Well, that's just not true.” Blaine couldn't hold back, speaking over Kurt’s attempts to go on now. “Honestly, having to work is horrible. The man I work for is a monster, and he beats me.”

Kurt gasped, shocked. “That's terrible!” he said. “That's against the law, I'm sure. You should...y-you should have him arrested!”

Blaine snorted. “Ha! I'm not royalty, remember?” he asked, bitterness seeping into his tone. “I can't do anything like that. It doesn't work that way in the village. It's either put up with Farmer Wilkie, or I don't work. And I can't let my mother starve.”

Kurt was silent. Maybe being a peasant didn't mean as much freedom as he'd originally let himself believe. He knew they didn't live luxuriously, but he had always assumed that they lived much like the lords and ladies his father visited in his travels to other parts of the kingdom: with class, grace, and at least a bit of human decency. “Have you...have you ever s-starved?” His voice quivered as he asked the question, not wanting to picture this perfect boy in front of him in that kind of situation.

“No,” Blaine whispered. He could tell he'd scared Kurt, and he didn't want to make it worse. “But, it's been close. I have to work to keep us fed and a roof over our heads. My mother can't get enough mending and cooking jobs to put food on the table.”

Neither boy spoke for a long time. Blaine wanted to tell the Prince that he did know what it was like to be royalty and that he'd switch places with Kurt in a heartbeat. He wanted to tell him that he had no right to come into his world and leave him wishing for a life he could never hope to have. He wanted to tell him--

“I have to go,” Kurt said suddenly, rising from the ground.

“But—wait!” Blaine stood too, quick enough to catch Kurt's arm as he was already turning to leave. “Why did you bring me here? To taunt me with your life and then run?”

“No!” Kurt shouted, indignant, turning swiftly and standing as tall as he could. Even in the dark, Blaine could tell that he was at least a few inches taller than him. “No,” he repeated again, quieter, eyes searching the darkness around them as if he was afraid of something. “I just...I need time to think. I want to see you again.” He turned to leave, but threw back over his shoulder, “I'm sorry to have been so honest with you, to just pour out my problems before we’ve even had a chance to get to know one another. I just—I know we don't have a lot of time. I'll come back in a few days.” Then, he wrenched his arm free and left.

Blaine waited in the blackness until he was sure that the Prince was gone. He was confused by his abrupt departure, but also knew that they couldn’t be seen together. If the King ever found out...Blaine shivered at the thought. When it was safe, cautiously, he made his way out of the trees and back onto the dirt path, dimly lit with a hint of moonlight. He walked quickly; being out at night, alone, was dangerous. There were many ferocious animals that lurked in the woods at night, and he didn't want to think about the possibility of running into one while he was alone and defenseless. So, he kept up a brisk pace until he reached the door of his cottage. Once he was inside, he took a deep breath, finally letting his racing heart slow down.

He sat back down by the fire to think about what had transpired in the last hour. He knew he really should get some sleep; he'd need it if he wanted to perform better for Farmer Wilkie in the morning. However, he couldn't imagine how he'd convince his mind to shut down. He was too confused, surprised, and...he didn't know what to call it, the tight feeling in his chest. Anxiety, perhaps, that the Prince was trying to play some sort of trick on him? Blaine wasn't sure. 

He sat for a long time, staring into the flames. He tried to come up with a plan, some way to protect himself from the beautiful boy who was already talking about love. This Prince who'd admitted that he'd watched Blaine for years from his tower, this young man who thought he wanted Blaine's life... For this reason alone, Blaine was not sure the Prince was someone he wanted to trust. Trusting him seemed too risky. The Prince had a life that Blaine could never have, and, yet, if the Prince was in love with him, was it at all possible that he could? Could he be restored to his throne? The thought made him jittery with excitement.

Blaine shook his head, glancing at his mother who sighed and shifted in her sleep. No. He couldn't go down that path. He couldn't let his mind imagine what could be, because he knew deep down that it couldn't be. He wouldn't let it happen. The next time the Prince came knocking, he wouldn't answer the door. He wouldn't follow him into the woods. He wouldn't talk to him at all. He had to protect himself and his mother, and the only way to do that was by going to work for Farmer Wilkie each day, keeping his mind focused on his work and not some stupid fantasy. He could let nothing stand in his way, not even a Prince. Not even if he was the most beautiful, alluring, wonderful Prince that Blaine had ever seen.


	4. Uneven Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thanks to Riverance! Her art is in this chapter, and it's awesome!!!

Blaine's resolve did not last long. In fact, it really seemed that Blaine had no resolve at all. A few nights later, when the Prince returned, Blaine followed him into the forest again without any hesitation. He couldn't help himself. The Prince was alluring and beautiful, just exactly the kind of man Blaine had always wanted to be with. And when he spoke to him, the Prince's eyes danced and sparkled, inviting him in. So he followed him. Then nearly a week later, he did it again. And once more a few days after that. Truth be told, Blaine was loving it, and all of the fear and trepidation he had felt about being with the Prince had vanished.

He wasn't sure what had changed his mind exactly. He'd been so sure that he was going to swear off Kurt in order to protect himself and his mother that he was a little bit surprised to find himself holding the Prince's hand as they hurried toward the woods a few nights after their first meeting. Maybe it was his eyes, mysterious and gray that Blaine lived to catch a glimpse of in the flickering firelight of his cottage... Maybe it was the pale skin that looked so beautiful in the moonlight as they ran through the forest... Maybe it was the Prince's sing-song voice or the way he held tightly to Blaine's hand... Blaine really wasn't sure. He knew, however, that the moment he opened the door and saw the Prince again, he'd do anything to spend more time with him.

Well, almost anything. Blaine was tired of hiding. Each time they'd met, it was under the cover of darkness in the woods, and that made him feel just the tiniest bit nervous. Kurt always demanded that they whisper when they spoke, that they leave the woods separately, and that they never try to see one another during the day. Blaine understood the last part. A Prince and a peasant were not supposed to be together, romantically or otherwise. He was tired of sneaking into the woods, though, under the veil of darkness. He wanted to see Kurt in the light, to really get to know his face, to map out his body. He knew they could trust his mother; she wouldn't tell a soul. It was this argument, actually, that led to their first big fight.

“Why can't we tell her, Kurt?” Blaine whined, clutching at the Prince's hand. “I want to actually be able to see you.”

“We've been over this,” Kurt sighed. “I'm a Prince. You're not. We can't be seen together by anyone, ever.” He was annoyed to even be answering this question. Again.

“But, my mother won't tell anyone. She--”

“I don't want to talk about this anymore, Blaine,” Kurt cut him off. “We can't tell anyone. That's final.”

“But, I--”

“No. As your Prince, I command you to stop talking about it.”

That was it. Blaine whirled around from where he'd been facing the road to the direction he thought Kurt was. “You command me?” he sneered. “You command me? I thought you were talking about love and feelings a few nights ago, and now you're trying to command me to do something so you can get your way?” His voice rose louder and louder as he spoke. “You don't get to command me, Kurt. I know we aren't exactly equal out there,” Blaine said pointing in the direction of the village, “but you said that when we're here, we are.” He was close to tears as he thought back to their second night together when Kurt had talked about equal status between the two of them.

_ “I know this is hard for you,” Kurt said, reaching out to run his hand up and down Blaine's arm. “I know you don't like to hide. I don’t like it either, but we have to.” _

_ “I just want to tell someone. It doesn't seem fair.” Blaine was glad Kurt was so bold in touching him. He wouldn't have the courage, no matter how badly he wanted to reach out and caress the shadows of the Prince's face. When he was also a Prince, maybe, but now as a peasant, he didn’t feel it was his place to do so. _

_ “It isn't fair,” Kurt agreed. “But it's what we have to do.” _

_ “As you command,” Blaine said, bowing low. He really only meant it as a joke, but Kurt was much more serious about it. _

_ “No. None of that. I'm not commanding anything.” _

_ Blaine was confused. “What do you mean? You're the Prince. I'm just--” _

_ “The person I'm choosing to get to know and love,” Kurt cut in, serious. “I won't command you to do anything when we are here, in our own little corner of the world. Out there,” he gestured toward the path leading back to the village, “in the light, where everyone can see, I'm the Prince. In here,” he gestured around them, “I'm just Kurt. I'm not 'Sir' or 'Your Majesty.' I won’t 'command' you to do anything. I'm just me. You're just you. And we're getting to know one another.” He smiled at Blaine, bringing both hands up to frame his face. In the patchy moonlight, he could just make out the peasant boy's face. He was happy to see Blaine’s smile radiating back at him. _

_ “You're getting to know and love me?” Blaine whispered disbelievingly, eyes never leaving Kurt's. _

_ “Yeah,” Kurt whispered back. “Every time I see you.” He watched as Blaine's gaze traveled down his face, resting on his lips as he wet his own. _

_ “Me too,” he whispered. _

_ Kurt was mesmerized by the way the boy's lips moved, the way the moonlight made them glisten as he spoke. It was stunning. Without a second thought, Kurt closed the small distance between them and pressed his lips gently to Blaine's, holding the kiss for just a few moments before moving away. _

_ Blaine's breath caught in surprise as the Prince's lips met his. They were firm and soft and so perfect, much too perfect to move away when they did. Blaine was embarrassed at the little whimper that escaped as Kurt pulled back. _

_ “Are you okay?” Kurt asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry. _

_ “Perfect,” Blaine said dreamily before reaching up to kiss Kurt again. _

“Well, maybe I was wrong,” Kurt hissed, bringing Blaine back to reality. “Maybe we can't just be you and me. Maybe I need to command you sometimes. I'm doing it for your own good.” Kurt could feel his rage burning hot in his chest, but he tried to keep a handle on it. He didn't want to fight with Blaine. Their time together was too precious to be spent like this.

“I don't need you to do things for my own good,” Blaine spat. “I can do things for my own good. Like this.” He began marching toward the edge of the woods, intent on leaving Kurt behind and never talking to him again. He didn't need someone commanding him for his own good. He was just fine on his own. He had been for a long time. 

But Kurt had other plans. “Wait,” he called after him, hurrying to catch up. “Wait! Blaine!”

Blaine kept walking, willing himself not to turn around and respond. He would go home and just forget about all of these conversations and intimate moments with the Prince.

Finally, Kurt caught up to him, grabbing him tightly by the upper arm. “Don't go,” he panted, out of breath from hurrying through the trees and tripping over fallen branches he couldn't see. “Let me explain something to you.”

“I don't need you to explain anything,” Blaine said darkly. “You've already made everything abundantly clear. You don't want to be seen with me.”

“Is that what you think?” Kurt cried, his heart breaking. “You think I don't want to be seen with you, that I'm embarrassed of you? Blaine,” he forced the shorter boy to turn around. Here, where there were fewer trees, he could see his face more clearly, could see the hurt, anger, and sadness in his eyes. “I would love nothing more than to go knocking on the castle door with you on my arm. I would love to be able to go for a carriage ride through the village with you next to me. I would love to be able to walk with you through the castle gardens or get to know your mother. But, I just can't. My father--” his voice cracked, his next words coming out deep and heavy with tears. “My father would have you killed.”

Under normal circumstances, Blaine would have seen the raw emotion in Kurt's face and begged him for forgiveness. He would have understood that what Kurt was telling him was the truth and agreed with him that they couldn't let anyone else know about them in order to protect what they had. But to hear that Kurt's father, the man who had ordered the death of Blaine’s father, taken away his home, and forced him and his mother to live in poverty, would kill him for loving his son was too much. The anger and resentment he had been harboring for so long against the elusive King of Hucal boiled over. “Let him try to kill me!” Blaine roared. “Let him try to kill me and take me away from my mother. I will kill him first. He had my father killed when he took our kingdom, and I will never forgive him for it. If he tries to kill me, I'll kill him first!”

Kurt was in shock. What was Blaine talking about? His father, King Burt, had killed Blaine's father? Who was—oh. Kurt understood now. Everything made sense. “You...you're...you're the Prince of Adrison,” he breathed.

For the first time in a while, Blaine’s eyes met Kurt's. Seeing the shock in his eyes, his anger dissipated. He'd hurt the Prince enough by walking away and threatening his father’s life. He felt sad and guilty now. “Yes,” he admitted, sitting down on a fallen log. “I was Prince Blaine of Adrison.”

“My-my father killed your father?” Kurt stuttered, sinking down next to him.

“Well, he ordered his murder at least,” Blaine replied. “I don't think he did it himself. I’ve never seen your father, so I’m not sure if he was there that day or not. If he was, he didn’t introduce himself to his newest subjects.” There was clear venom in Blaine’s voice.

“But why? How do you know? You were only a child!”

“I asked my mother about it a few years later.” Blaine shook his head, staring at the ground. He picked up a small stick that was lying nearby and began tracing in the dirt. “She said that Adrison and Hucal had been at war for quite some time. It started over little things; a land dispute here and a hostage soldier there. Then, I guess, it escalated. My father declared war on one of Hucal's allies, and in retaliation, your father attacked our castle. My father wasn't expecting it, and we had no army to defend ourselves. Your father's army outnumbered us four to one, and we were defeated before we really knew what was happening.” Blaine sighed. “At least that's what my mother said.”

Kurt didn't know how to respond. He felt as though he should comfort Blaine, but he didn't know how. What can you say to the person whose family yours killed? So he sat in silence, thinking.

Blaine took his silence to mean it was the beginning of the end. “I guess that changes things, doesn't it?” he asked, pushing himself up to walk home.

“Not at all,” Kurt whispered. He cleared his throat. “Not unless knowing my mother died when I was two does.” 

Blaine sat back down. “What happened?”

“The way my father tells the story, she was captured in a raid,” Kurt said quietly. “Adrison soldiers attacked her caravan on its way back to the castle. She'd been visiting her sister.” He paused and reached for Blaine's hand, wrapping his finger tightly around it. “They killed her when she tried to run. My father was angry for months; he was so distant. I was alone most of the time up until I started my lessons.” Kurt swallowed. “He's never been the same since then, and we rarely see eye to eye. Now that I know who you are, we definitely have to keep our relationship a secret. My father can never find out. He'd kill you for sure.”

“Why didn't he kill me when he had the chance?” Blaine asked. “Why did he let my mother and I live?”

Kurt shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe it was Fate. Maybe he didn't kill you so that we could meet one day.”

Blaine chuckled. “How romantic.” He glanced down at their hands, still entwined together. “Are you sure this is still a good idea?” he asked, nodding at their hands. “It's not too dangerous for us to be together?”

Kurt didn't answer. Instead, he said, “Blaine, I—I love you.”

“What?” Blaine didn't know how to respond. After all the yelling, fighting, and admitting they'd done that night, he'd assumed that they'd leave the woods that evening and never see one another again. A confession of love was not something he'd expected.

“I know. I know it's early. I know we don't know each other very well yet. I know that we have a lot of problems to face and that we have to hide, but I love you. You don't have to say it back. I just--”

“But I want to,” Blaine interrupted. “I love you, too, Kurt. And even though we probably shouldn't do this, try to have a relationship, it feels right.”

“I know! I feel that way, too. And I--”

“Just kiss me,” Blaine interrupted again and pressed his lips against Kurt's. He was feeling bolder now, and their kiss was much more insistent, lips parting, tongues edging for entrance, exploring. Blaine, behaving on instinct, reached up and unclasped the cloak that Kurt was wearing, letting it slip from his shoulders to the ground behind him, his mouth never leaving Kurt's.

The Prince reached for Blaine's shirt, sliding it up and over his head, their kiss only breaking for a split second before they were back together, tongues clashing as they kissed. Blaine's hat slipped away with his shirt, and Kurt's crown landed on the ground next to the two boys with a soft thud. Kurt pushed Blaine against a tree and his fingers worked at the simple knot in his rope belt.

Quickly, Blaine swatted Kurt's hands away from his waist, grabbing instead at the purple satin shirt the Prince wore. He pulled it swiftly over Kurt's head, moaning quietly as Kurt pressed him against the tree again, his chest warm and solid against Blaine's own. 

Kurt went back to fumbling at Blaine's pants, but a firm hand to his wrist stilled his movements again. “What's wrong?” he whispered, voice gruff. “Are you okay?”

“I've just...I've never done...that before,” Blaine admitted, his cheeks growing pink.

“Neither have I,” Kurt said. “We'll take it slow. I promise.”

“I love you,” Blaine replied, and the boys went back to their kissing, working to get the other naked. They didn't care that they weren't far from the path; they didn't care that someone might see. All that mattered was each other and the passion sizzling like a hot spark between them.

Kurt was the first to take Blaine into his mouth. Though he hadn’t lied about never having had an intimate moment with someone, he had read about it, enough to know what was supposed to happen between them. Still, he was careful, suckling gently at the tip of Blaine’s cock before slowly sinking further down. His gag reflex prevented him from taking Blaine’s length in all the way, but it didn't matter. Kurt's tongue was like magic as it ran along the underside, flicking teasingly at the tip, then engulfing him in wet heat again.

Blaine couldn't control the sounds coming out of his mouth. At each new slide of Kurt's tongue, a long moan spilled out of his lips. Before he really felt he'd had enough, he could feel his orgasm swelling, his balls tightening. “Kurt,” he managed. “Close.” 

Kurt gave one last long drag of his tongue before pulling away, Blaine's orgasm painting his chest. Kurt caught the boy as he slumped, drained from the excitement, emotions, and sensations of his first orgasm with his lover. He wished he had something to clean himself and Blaine with, and looking around, he decided to settle them onto his cloak. He guided Blaine's willing body to the ground, kissing the corners of his mouth sweetly as they lay next to one another.

“Mmm,” Blaine mumbled at the Prince. “You were amazing.”

Kurt blushed. “Thank you,” he said. “You're beautiful when you moan.”

Blaine's cheeks turned pink again, and he pulled Kurt to him, capturing his lips in another sweet kiss. After a few slow smooches, he murmured, “Let me return the favor.”

“No, Blaine. That's okay. You really don—ohhhhh.” Kurt couldn't finish his sentence, the sensation of Blaine's mouth around him already feeling more amazing then he'd ever thought possible. He held the edges of the cloak tightly in his fists as his back arched, searching for more of the wonderful feeling that Blaine's mouth around him brought.

Blaine loved the sounds coming out of his Prince. He kept experimenting, licking his length and lapping at the tip with his tongue. Anything that made Kurt let out a particularly beautiful sound he made sure to repeat. He continued his ministrations over and over until Kurt let out a choked, “Blaine!” He pulled away just before Kurt's release, collapsing back onto the cloak next to him.

It was a few minutes before Kurt was able to speak again. He turned on his side to face Blaine. “That was wonderful,” he breathed. “You're wonderful.”

Blaine tore his gaze away from the stars peeking out between the trees to the stars in his lover's eyes. “You're wonderful, too,” he replied, planting a kiss on Kurt's cheek.

They lay next to one another for a few minutes, enjoying the closeness. Kurt rested his cheek on Blaine's chest, happy to listen to his heartbeat. Blaine let a lazy hand comb through Kurt's hair. All too soon, however, Kurt stood up and began to dress again. 

Blaine whined. “Come back.”

“I can't,” Kurt said with a sad smile. “The sun will be up soon, and I need to be in the castle before daybreak. You need to get home, too.”

Blaine sighed but begrudgingly began to dress as well. “You're right.” Once they each had all of their clothes in place, he looked at Kurt. “When will I see you again?” he asked.

“Soon,” Kurt replied as he adjusted the crown on his head. “As soon as I can sneak out of the castle, I'll come to see you again.” He walked to Blaine and kissed him again, gentle and sweet. “I love you,” he whispered as he pulled away.

“I love you, too,” Blaine said. He watched sadly as the Prince turned and walked away through the trees and out to the path. He sat back down on the log they'd used earlier and sighed, watching Kurt’s slight frame until he was out of sight. Then, when he was sure he was far enough down the path that they wouldn't be caught, he wound his way out of the trees to head for home. He knew he was in for a long day. After a night like that, there was no way he'd be able to keep his mind on his work. He was sure to incur Wilkie's wrath the next day, but it would be worth it. He was loved by a boy that he loved dearly, and nothing could be better than that.


	5. Warnings of War

True to his word, a few nights later, Kurt showed up, crying. He knocked loudly on Blaine's door, bursting in before Blaine could answer, not caring who saw him. 

“Kurt!” Blaine whispered loudly, hurrying to his side where his boyfriend had collapsed on the floor. He glanced back at his mother, worried the commotion would wake her, but she didn't stir. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?” He held his boyfriend tight against him as he sobbed, rubbing his arm comfortingly.

“Blaine...I..it...” But Kurt couldn't speak, his breathing too ragged from his sobs.

“Shhh,” Blaine said softly. “Don't talk right now. Let's just go into the woods, and we'll talk there. I don't want to wake my mother.” Gently, he helped Kurt to his feet, supporting him as they slunk out of the cottage and onto the road in the dead of night.

As they walked, Kurt's tears slowly dried up. Instead of walking hunched over, his back began to straighten. Instead of nearly tripping over his own feet as he moved, he walked with more purpose. The one thing that didn't change, however, was how much he leaned into Blaine, needing his solid presence next to him as if he let go or moved away, Blaine would disappear in a heartbeat.

Neither boy spoke until they reached their spot in the woods. Each of them waited until they were settled, snuggled into each other against a tree to talk. “What's going on?” Blaine asked, brushing a damp lock of hair from Kurt's face.

“Something's happened,” Kurt said, voice breathy with emotion.

Blaine waited a moment to see if he would explain. When he didn't, he prompted, “What’s happened?”

“My father is declaring war,” Kurt explained, sounding as though his heart was breaking. “The Queen of Argent threatened my father's life. She wants to take Hucal for herself. So, my father is declaring war.” He took a shuddery breath. “You’ll be expected to go and fight.” Then, the sobs started all over again as he buried his face into Blaine's shoulder.

Shocked at the news, Blaine tried to comfort his boyfriend as best as he could. All the while, his mind was racing.  _ I'm going to war? I don't know the first thing about fighting in a war. What will happen to Kurt? Will we have to break up? What will happen to my mother? How will she survive without me? _ All of the thoughts spinning around in his mind were too much for him to handle, so he concentrated on Kurt. “Shhh,” he whispered over and over again into the Prince's hair. “Shhh. We'll be okay. Don't cry.” He rocked slowly back and forth as he spoke, trying to convince himself as much as Kurt.

Nothing he was doing seemed to be working. The more he tried to comfort Kurt, the more the Prince cried. It was as if Kurt’s heart was actually breaking, as if he was in more pain than he’d ever been in his life. The tears just kept coming, soaking into Blaine's worn brown shirt, making his skin sticky.

Blaine was growing desperate. He needed some comfort of his own, and he hated to hear Kurt cry. So, he began to softly sing a song his mother had sung to him as a child. 

_ Hush salen Aestar (Hush my Love) _

_ Vivendi viaren ti (Dry your eyes) _

_ Tel' ther nha fis (The sky is bright) _

_ Tel' Crith nha sel (The sun is high) _

_ Hush salen Aestar (Hush my Love) _

_ Kar col reloseer (Do not fear) _

_ Teshuel salen an (Take my hand) _

_ Sal will hied va tham (I will hold you near) _

_ Hush salen Aestar (Hush my Love) _

_ Sehan ausa tel'quiet (Walk with me) _

_ Sal will hied va sel (I will lift you up) _

_ Ent va will linta (And you will see) _

_ Sal will nielen shan (I will never go) _

_ Sal will eath'she deth (I will always endure) _

_ Va are ath tel'quiet (You are mine) _

_ Salen Aestar (My Love) _

“That was beautiful,” Kurt whispered, no longer crying.

Blaine blushed. “It was nothing. Just something my mother used to sing to me when I was sad.”

“Well, I thought it was wonderful.” 

“Did you—you understood it?”

Kurt shook his head, chuckling. “No. Not a word.” When Blaine opened his mouth to respond, Kurt put a finger to his lips. “You don't need to explain it to me. It was your voice...it was perfect.”

Blaine felt himself blush even deeper, but didn't say anything else about the song. Instead, he settled back closer to the tree and pulled the Prince tight against him. They didn't speak for several minutes, enjoying the silence and the closeness of one another. Finally, however, Blaine spoke up, knowing he needed to ask the question he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to. “What does this war mean,” he gulped, “for us?”

“Well,” Kurt replied, fiddling with the edge of Blaine's shirt, “it means that...well, that you're leaving me.”

“I gathered that,” Blaine replied, running a hand through Kurt's hair. “When?”

“In a few days? I'm not really sure. My father hasn't declared war, yet. He was planning it with his adviser over dinner tonight.”

“So...” Blaine couldn't quite bring himself to say it out loud, but it needed to be said. “So, do you want to break up?” His voice was soft and deep.

Kurt pushed away from him, looking into Blaine's eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “Never. I would never break up with you.”

“What if I don't come home, Kurt?” Blaine asked, knowing it was a very definite possibility.

“Don't say that,” Kurt begged, tears already beginning to spring into his eyes again. “Don't say things like that. You're coming home. You are. You have to.”

“Kurt, we need to be pre--”

“No!” Kurt shouted, rising to his feet. “No! You're coming home. You're coming home, Blaine. You have to!”

“Okay. Okay. I'm sorry.” Blaine grabbed his boyfriend's hand, pulling him back toward him and into a tight embrace as more tears fell from Kurt's eyes. Blaine cried a little, too, trying to keep the Prince from knowing. The thought of leaving the love of his life to fight for some King that he hated, the thought that he might die and never see Kurt again was tearing him apart inside. But right now, he had to be strong for Kurt. There would be time for his own tears later.

Wordlessly, Kurt sank back to the ground, settling back against Blaine. The boys held one another for a while, letting their closeness say more than words could. 

Eventually, Blaine murmured, “You know I love you. Right?”

Kurt nodded, sniffling. “Yeah. I do. I love you, too.”

A small smile flitted across Blaine's face. He loved hearing those words come from Kurt’s mouth. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of them.

“I should get back to the castle,” Kurt said, pushing himself up. “I need to try to get a little bit of sleep tonight. I'm an emotional mess and crying exhausts me.”

“You're still beautiful, Kurt,” Blaine said, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. “Will I see you again before I leave?”

Heat flushed Kurt's cheeks as he turned back to his boyfriend. “Yeah. I want to say goodbye...” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on Blaine's cheek. “I love you. See you soon.” With that, he stole off into the darkness before Blaine could say anything at all.

“I love you, too,” Blaine whispered, staring into the dark where Kurt's form had been. His mind was still reeling from everything he had learned in the past couple of hours. He'd never gone to war before, obviously. He'd never thought he would have to go, and his dad had deemed him too young to train with more than a wooden sword when he was alive. He knew it was common practice for a King to send most of his able-bodied men into battle, especially when a long, difficult war was expected. Blaine supposed the reason he'd never really considered the possibility of having to fight in a war was because he didn't really view himself as a man. He still felt like a boy most of the time. The only thing that made him feel like a man was Kurt and his solid, warm frame pressed against Blaine's own form.

He sighed and headed out of the trees toward the path back to his cottage. He didn't want to leave Kurt, especially not to fight in some stupid war for this horrible King. He was beginning to rely more and more on their weekly jaunts into the forest. Something about sneaking out in the dark of night to meet his secret, forbidden lover in the woods made his heart pound. Kurt, just the sight of him, made Blaine's blood run firey hot through his veins, and his whole body feel like it was alive with sensitivity. He was still amazed that he could feel this way so quickly. But, he supposed, if a couple was meant to be, it wouldn't matter if they'd known one another for 10 minutes or 10 years.

As he walked back toward his cottage, Blaine tried to think of something he could give to Kurt to remember him by. Despite Kurt's pleas to not think about it, Blaine had to be realistic and consider the possibility that he might not return from battle. The future of a soldier was never certain, and Blaine knew that his would be no exception. He vowed to learn as much as he could from those around him so he could protect himself. He wanted to come back to Kurt more than anything. He would fight for his life just so he could return safely to his Prince. He'd give Kurt something to remember him by regardless. Just in case he didn't make it back, he wanted Kurt to have something to remember his Midnight Lover by.

* * *

Ten days later, Blaine was living in a camp at the edge of Hucal. He was no longer working for Farmer Wilkie, much to the angry farmer's dismay. Instead, he was spending his days learning how to fight for the King. Reluctantly, he worked through the drills. He had to remind himself that he was not doing this for the same King everyone else proclaimed to be serving. He was doing this for  _ his _ King; he was doing this for Kurt.

His troop was preparing to leave for a fight the next day, and Blaine was feeling extra nervous. Not only did he feel unprepared to march into battle, but he hadn't seen Kurt since the night he'd come crying about the impending war.

Blaine's world had been such a whirlwind since then that it seemed like an eternity since he'd seen the Prince. The morning after their last meeting, the King had come out and declared war on Argent. He'd decreed that all able-bodied men were to report to the castle to be assigned a troop by noon the next day. From there, everything was a blur. Blaine returned home to comfort his mother before standing in line for his assignment. Ever since then, he'd been marching, dueling, and absolutely hating his life. He ached to see Kurt, to feel his arms wrapped around his waist, his soft lips against Blaine's own. He was afraid that he would walk away the next day without seeing Kurt ever again, and the thought moved him almost to tears.

Quietly, that night, he sat next to the fire in the middle of the ring of tents. Most of the other members of his troop had already turned in, but Blaine couldn't sleep. He'd always been a night owl, preferring the sounds and peace of the night to the hectic goings-on during the day. He gently patted the pocket of his worn trousers making sure the necklace he'd made for Kurt was still tucked neatly inside. 

“Blaine!” 

The dark-haired boy whipped his head around, looking for the source of the sound. The voice had almost sounded like Kurt...

“Blaine!”

He peered into the darkness. He could barely make out the shape of a person hovering just outside the tents almost directly behind him. Slowly, he rose from his seat. He squinted his eyes and began moving toward the dark shape. 

“Blaine. It's me.”

It was definitely Kurt. There was no mistaking the voice of his Prince this time. Blaine picked up his pace and pulled Kurt into his embrace as soon as he was within arm's reach, squeezing him tightly. “I've missed you so much,” he breathed into his hair.

“I've missed you, too,” Kurt murmured, holding Blaine for just a moment. “We can't talk here. Follow me.” Kurt detached himself from Blaine's grip, taking his hand in his own as he moved into the inky blackness.

Blaine was instantly brought back to the first night he and Kurt had met, allowing himself to be pulled into the woods, into the best relationship he'd ever had, yet never knew he needed. He let himself be led again, overjoyed to be with the man he loved.

Sooner than Blaine had expected, Kurt stopped. “We should be safe here,” he said, using his full voice. “God, I've missed you.” He wrapped his arms around Blaine, pulling him close again. “I don't want to ever let go of you.”

Blaine melted into the touch. This was better than what he'd been imagining while sitting at the fire.

Kurt did eventually let go, settling down onto the forest floor. The trees here were different than where they usually met; there was more space between them, and more leaves blanketed the ground, making for a comfier spot to sit.

Blaine sank down beside him, immediately twining their fingers together. “I've missed you,” he said again. Looking at Kurt's face, his mind suddenly went blank. He couldn't think of anything he'd dreamed of telling the boy the entire time he was at camp. The only thing that mattered at the moment was that they were together.

“I missed you, too,” Kurt replied, a smile on his lips. His boyfriend was nothing if not a little silly at times. “I came to wish you luck.” A giant sigh escaped him. “Father said that most of the troops are marching out tomorrow for the first attack. I assumed that meant you.” He swiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “I still don't want you to go.”

“I don't want to go either,” Blaine replied, looking down at their hands. “These past few days without you have been torture. I can't imagine how much worse leaving for war will be...”

Kurt nudged Blaine's shoulder halfheartedly. “Maybe the war won't last that long. Maybe Argent is weak, and you'll be home again in a few weeks.”

Blaine gave him a small smile. “Maybe,” he agreed. He knew full well that this was not the case. From the way his superiors had been talking, Argent would be putting up quite a fight. It wouldn't do Kurt any good to know that, though. It was better to protect him from as much of the truth as he could. If he didn't come back, he didn't want to leave Kurt waiting and waiting for him. Then, he remembered. “I made this for you,” he said, suddenly, digging into his pocket. He produced the small necklace he'd crafted, handing it to the Prince.

“What's this?” Kurt asked, holding the necklace in a small beam of light that shone through the trees. “Blaine, it's beautiful.” 

It  _ was  _ beautiful; Blaine had worked to hollow out a small, circular chunk of wood. On the outside, he'd scratched their initials: K + B. He'd strung it onto a thin chain he'd taken from Wilkie. On either side of the wooden circle, he'd attached a small, slender leaf that he'd also carved from the wood. He'd scratched a few subtle veins into the leaf to give it a hint of design. The necklace looked soft and delicate in the thin light of the moon.

Immediately, Kurt fastened the chain around his neck. Turning to Blaine, he took both of his hands into his own. “I love it, Blaine. It's perfect,” he said quietly, voice husky with emotion. “Thank you.”

Blaine blushed at the praise. “You're welcome,” he murmured, brushing his lips softly against Kurt's temple. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by in case--” Kurt's finger on his lips silenced him.

“We're not going to talk about that,” Kurt whispered, his face incredibly close to Blaine's. “Tonight is all about us. I want you to have something to take with you, too.” His breath on Blaine's face grew warmer as he leaned in closer. He pressed gentle, barely-there kisses to his boyfriend's lips, his cheeks, his forehead. He placed soft kisses on his eyelids, at his hairline, and down the line of his jaw to the nape of his neck, Kurt’s lips damp and perfect against Blaine's heated skin.

The dark-haired boy let his head fall back, and his mouth fell open as his breathing became more labored, sparks of excitement shooting through his body each time the Prince's lips brushed his skin. “Kurt,” he mumbled.

“I'm right here,” Kurt breathed into his ear, going back to kissing whatever patch of skin was closest to him. His fingers danced at the hem of Blaine's shirt, his fingertips grazing his skin in heated strokes.

Blaine didn't like the painfully slow pace, but he also didn't want it to stop. The next time Kurt moved toward his cheeks, Blaine dipped his head to meet Kurt's lips with a gentle kiss. He pressed harder, seeking more, his tongue sweeping across his lover's lips, looking for entrance. When Kurt gasped, their tongues collided in a passionate kiss that only grew more heated. 

It didn't take long for the boys to undress one another after that. The more skin contact they got, the more desperate they became until they were both naked, bodies pressed together on the blanket of leaves on the forest floor.

“Kurt,” Blaine moaned between kisses, “I—I want you. I want to try.” He hated how desperate his voice sounded but he couldn't help himself, and he hoped Kurt understood the words that he couldn’t quite make come out of his mouth. His body was thrumming with anticipation.

“Roll over,” Kurt whispered, waiting for a moment as the other boy re-positioned himself below him. He ran his hands reverently down Blaine's body, loving the feel of the smooth skin of his back, his strong muscles tightening with every little touch. “You're so beautiful, so perfect,” he whispered into Blaine's ear. He ran his hands up and down, dragging his fingertips over the boy's skin for a few moments before allowing himself to cup his cheeks, pulling them gently apart. 

Blaine gasped as cool air hit his most sensitive place. The gasp turned quickly to a moan as the cool air was replaced by Kurt's warm, wet tongue. The sensation was odd and the best feeling he'd ever felt at the same time. 

At first, Kurt worked his tongue around the rim, gently, cautiously. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but that didn't matter. He wanted nothing more than to make Blaine happy, and by the noises he was making, Blaine was very happy with what he was doing. After he was sure that his lover was comfortable with his presence, he sat up. Gently, he inserted an oiled finger, slowly, waiting for Blaine's body to relax before moving in further. He could feel the boy's body moving and contracting around him.

Blaine wasn't sure how he felt about the invasion. At first, it burned, and when he made a slight hiss, Kurt began kissing up and down his back to soothe him. He wasn't used to any intrusions. The further Kurt went, however, the better it began to feel as he became more and more used to it. Experimentally, he raised his hips a bit, pressing back into Kurt's finger. That felt amazing. He moaned softly.

“That feel good?” Kurt asked, his finger moving in tiny circles within Blaine.

“Yes,” Blaine managed. “More.”   
  


Nodding, Kurt withdrew his finger most of the way before slowly slipping back in with two fingers.

It didn't take Blaine as long to adjust that time, and soon he was thrusting back against Kurt as the other boy stretched him. “I'm ready,” he pled. “Please, Kurt. I need you.”   
  


“Okay. Just a moment,” Kurt replied, withdrawing his fingers completely to give himself a bit of attention. He'd never been this hard in all his life. Something about seeing Blaine so vulnerable, so open and needy for him made him so turned on. His cock was aching, and it didn't take too many strokes before he felt like he might be ready to burst. Making sure both he and Blaine were as lubed as he could get them, he positioned himself at Blaine's twitching entrance.

“Kurt, please,” Blaine pled again, turning to look back at his boyfriend. “I'm ready. Please.”

“I have to go slow, Blaine,” Kurt whispered, pushing in just a little. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Blaine nodded, turning back, grunting a bit as his body again adjusted. 

Slowly, inch by inch, Kurt pushed in until he was completely inside. Then, slowly, he pulled out and pushed back in, setting a very gentle, slow pace.

Blaine didn't want to go slow. He was tired of going slow. He was so turned on he couldn't bear it. He tried to push back against Kurt, and when he did, he felt the best sensation he'd ever felt. Fireworks went off in his brain as a wave of intense pleasure tore through his body. He moaned louder this time. He was close, very close.

Kurt was close, too. Blaine's muscles were warm and firm around him, and it felt amazing. Blaine's moans, however, would be his undoing. Whatever had just happened when Blaine pushed back against him had been perfect; the sound that came out of his boyfriend sent a shiver of pleasure through him. He tried to repeat the thrust, earning himself another mewl from his lover's mouth.

“Kurt...Kurt,” Blaine panted. “Close.”

“Me, too, my love,” Kurt said, thrusting a few more times, a bit harder than before. He felt Blaine stiffen, then shudder beneath him as an orgasm tore through his body. That was all it took for Kurt to release with a few more gentle thrusts as he rode the wave. Once he could move again, he pulled out of Blaine and lay next to him in the leaves, cradling his back against his chest.

Blaine rolled to face Kurt, their noses touching. “That...was amazing,” he whispered.

“You were amazing,” Kurt said, pecking the tip of his nose.

Blaine smiled a tired, hazy smile, putting his head on Kurt's chest. He let a lazy hand roam over Kurt's body until his fingers found the necklace that Kurt wore. He toyed with it as he listened to Kurt breathe.

“Don't leave,” Kurt whispered into the darkness.

“Kurt, I--”

“I mean tonight,” Kurt interrupted. “Stay with me tonight.”

Blaine sat up, leaning on his arm beneath him. “Is that safe?” he asked. “Won't your father miss you at the castle?”

“He'll never know I'm gone,” Kurt replied. He sat up, too, clutching at Blaine's shoulders. “I just don't want to miss any time with you. I don't know when you'll be back, and I want to remember this night. I want to remember your skin, your warmth. I...I need you to stay here with me.”

With a nod, Blaine lay back down, pulling his boyfriend to him. “I'll stay,” he replied, running his fingers through the Prince's hair. “I'll stay all night.”   
  


“Thank you,” Kurt whispered, settling in. They lay quietly for some time, just enjoying the other’s company. 

Then, Blaine cleared his throat. “Even though we're staying, I think we should get dressed.”

Kurt chuckled. “You do?” Sitting up, he reached for his shirt, still smiling at his boyfriend.

“Just to be safe. You know I'd rather spend the night without them,” Blaine replied giving his shoulder a gentle push. 

“I know,” Kurt said. He finished dressing and found a new place to lay in the leaves, away from their sticky mess. “Come back,” he begged, reaching an arm out for the other boy.

Blaine sank to his knees in the leaves next to the Prince. Giving him a gentle kiss, he said, “I'm here. I'm not leaving yet.”

“Let's not talk about it. Please. I just want to enjoy my time with you without thinking about what the morning will inevitably bring.”

Wordlessly, Blaine kissed him again, lying down in the leaves and pulling Kurt close to him. 

“I love you,” Kurt mumbled, already sounding close to sleep.

“I love you, too,” Blaine whispered in the Prince's ear. 

Neither of them spoke again, and soon after, Blaine could hear Kurt's gentle snores. It took him much longer to fall asleep, however. He lay awake, staring at the stars, thinking about Kurt, his mom, and his future. But, mostly Kurt. He wanted to enjoy this time with the Prince, and he'd certainly enjoyed the sex. The quiet and darkness was making it harder to focus on spending the night together. Quietly, he played with Kurt's hair, running his fingertips across his skin and down his body, memorizing every inch. This boy was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Blaine couldn't imagine what he'd do if he ever lost him completely. When he came back, he was going to make sure that never happened.

Eventually, Blaine did fall asleep. A few hours later, though, he awoke with a jolt to the sound of distant bugle blares. He sat up, taking in the sleeping form next to him. He wanted to wake Kurt to tell him goodbye, but he couldn't bear to see the hurt look he knew would be in his lover’s eyes. He had to go, though. Quickly, he kissed Kurt's cheek. “Goodbye, Kurt,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “I love you. I'll be home as quickly as I can.”   
  


Kurt didn't stir, and Blaine left, stealing through the woods without looking back. He had a job to do, and as soon as it was over, he'd come home. There was no use waiting. The sooner they marched out, the sooner he could march back home, God willing.

* * *

A short while later, Kurt rose. He stretched, groaning softly. Despite sleeping on the ground, he felt well-rested. Rolling onto his back, he threw his arm out, searching for Blaine, his hand only connecting with fallen leaves.

“Blaine?” he asked, sitting up and looking around. “Blaine? Are you here?”

He could hear distant voices shouting, and the sound of horses. They were leaving.

Quickly, Kurt gathered his things, not even caring how he looked or if anyone saw him. Silently, he crept through the trees and across the bare ground as the sun began to rise, painting the sky with tinges of pinks and oranges. Normally, Kurt would stop to admire the sky. Today, his only thought was seeing Blaine one more time.

Finding a bush near the camp, he hid in it, peeking through the dark foliage at the ruckus several yards away. He could see men rushing about, taking down tents, packing things onto the backs of horses and donkeys. He couldn't see Blaine anywhere, but he kept watching, hoping to catch a glance. He heard the commanding officer shout for the ragtag soldiers to find their formation, and as soon as they were ready, they began to march away.

  
Kurt scanned the group quickly, desperate to see Blaine even if it was only a glimpse. Just as he was about to give up, he saw a familiar curly head bobbing at the edge of the group. Kurt's hand instinctively rose to his chest, his fingertips finding the edge of the necklace his boyfriend had made for him. He watched the group march away, his eyes never leaving Blaine's head until he could no longer see it. Then, with tears pricking at his eyes, he slid out of the bush and ran up the nearby trail toward the castle.  _ Bring him home _ , he thought as he ran.  _ Don't let him be hurt, and bring him back to me. I love him. He's my soulmate, my everything. _


	6. Unwanted Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slight non-con in this chapter.

Blaine hated war, and he hadn't actually been in a battle yet, despite thinking they would be engaging in one shortly after leaving the village. As his Vintenar, Lord Smythe, had told them, their scout had been wrong. Even so, living in a camp of stinky male soldiers and marching nearly every day through every type of weather had led Blaine to believe that war was perhaps the worst torture known to man.

They'd only been gone for a few weeks, but Blaine missed his mother and Kurt fiercely. Every time he thought of home, his eyes would well with tears as he imagined how frightened his mother must feel, her only family sent out on the warpath. She had told him before he left that she would be okay; she'd find some mending or washing to do for the other women in the village in exchange for food. Blaine wasn't blind, though. He'd seen the fear in her eyes as she tried to reassure him, always the optimistic one, knowing that if he was worried about her, he’d possibly be distracted during times when he needed to be focusing. He knew that she likely wasn't doing well with him being gone since she'd already lost his father and his brother; he couldn't imagine how much it would affect her if she lost him, too. He thanked his lucky stars for Kurt, though. His Prince had promised to keep an eye on his mother while he was away, and Blaine knew Kurt would never let her starve or pine for him if Kurt knew that Blaine wasn't coming home.

  
  


And Kurt. Kurt had been an emotional wreck before he left. He'd hated to sneak away that morning, but he couldn't stand the thought of watching Kurt cry again, distraught at the thought of him leaving and there not being anything he could do about it. He'd sworn he would come back, and he would fight like hell to make sure that he did. However long this war lasted, he would come home. He just hoped that Kurt would wait for him. He was afraid, though he'd never tell his boyfriend this, that someone better and more high class would come along and sweep his young Prince off of his feet. As much as Blaine didn't want to think about it, he had nothing to give Kurt in return for his love; someone with money and power would be a far better match for the Prince, someone the King would approve of and wouldn’t immediately want to kill because of who he was. He knew Kurt loved him; he wouldn't ever question that. But without the ability to meet with him in the middle of the night, Kurt’s attraction to him might begin to fade. Blaine would understand if that happened, he told himself. He would understand, but that wouldn't make the pill any harder to swallow.

All of these thoughts swirled like a hurricane inside his head, especially at night. He would lie awake until all hours of the night, thinking, staring up at the roof of his tent. There were a few bare patches that allowed a hint of moonlight in, and he would lose himself in the maze of stars in the sky as he contemplated what his life might be like if he ever returned home.

Thankfully, during the day, there was not a lot of downtime. The Vintenar kept his company busy with marching, marching, and more marching. When they weren't marching, they were preparing for combat, having fake battles with one another using sticks so no one was seriously injured. This allowed little time for Blaine to think about how much his life sucked. He had to be on his toes, ready for anything the Vintenar commanded. He also felt that he needed to be on guard around the other members of his company. No one seemed to know who he had been before, so they mostly left him alone. There was little comradery in the unit; everyone kept to themselves unless they had to interact. It was easy to tell that no one really wanted to be there.

The only person who didn't seem to keep to this unwritten rule was the Vintenar himself. Lord Smythe had a habit of visiting others' tents at night. He seemed to have favorites among the company, and Blaine was one of them, though not in the way one might imagine. He had originally been largely ignored by the Vintenar until one day after a mock battle.

“Fantastic,” Lord Smythe had said, clapping Blaine roughly on the shoulder. “Keep that up, and you'll be the best fighter in this company.” His voice had dripped with sarcasm.

Blaine had looked at him sideways. “Thank you, sir,” he'd said, not entirely sure how to respond to the backhanded compliment. He hadn't thought he'd done anything particularly amazing or foolish. Everyone had known that his opponent was particularly unskilled. It had been easy to beat him once he had been brave enough to strike.

“You're the best fighter here,” the Vintenar had called out, attracting the attention of many of the company around him. They'd gathered in a circle as Lord Smythe continued. “Why, I'd say you're probably the best looking as well. Every man here should be jealous of you.” He'd looked around the circle, taking in the glares with a delighted smile.

Blaine had been embarrassed, and, at the same time, scared. He had known that it would be no good for him if everyone thought that he was the favorite. It was also no favor if everyone hated him. Blaine knew good and well that many of these men were angry. They'd left jobs, farms, and families to fight for a king that many hated and despised for a wide variety of reasons. If there was a man to pick on and take their anger and frustration out on, they would be delighted.

He heard murmurs around the camp after that. “Let's beat 'im up,” some said. “We can take turns. It'll be fun.” Others wanted to drive him out of the camp. Others still thought the best thing to do would be to kill him. Whoever managed it could take him to the Vintenar and prove themselves. Blaine was scared for his life and constantly watched his back. His sleepless nights turned into no sleep at all as he watched and waited for someone to try to hurt him.

To his surprise, no one ever did. Perhaps it was because no one else wanted to be made fun of the way that Lord Smythe made fun of Blaine daily, calling him out for any blunders that he made and constantly putting him into fake fights against men bigger and stronger than himself. Blaine wasn't sure what the point of it was, but if the Vintenar wanted to make his life hell, he was surely succeeding. Blaine wished, more than ever, that he could have run away from Hucal when the war announcement was made and never looked back. Being a homeless deserter would be better than this.

That really seemed true when they received word that they were to enter their next battle in a few days. The Vintenar began training them intensely. There were mock battles every day, fighting drills, and marching. Lots and lots of marching. Blaine hated it with a passion. He hated it even more when the Vintenar rounded them all up the night before their first battle to give them their marching orders.

Lord Smythe sat astride his horse as he always did, looking smugly around the group of men. His eyes lit up when he spotted Blaine, and a delighted smile covered his face for just a moment before he looked away again. “Alright, men!” Lord Smythe shouted to get their attention. When all was quiet, he continued. “We are going into battle tomorrow. We may not be ready, but we have no choice. Each of you has been assigned to a position. You've trained in that position. That will be your station tomorrow. The sword and spearsmen will lead our charge; those of you trained with the bow will be the next wave. Lastly, we'll have the few of you that can ride bringing up the rear. Where is Blaine?” 

Blaine's head snapped up from where he'd been studying his feet. “Sir?” he asked timidly.

“You ride in last, next to me,” Lord Smythe said. “That is all. Get a good night's rest, men. Tomorrow, we fight!”

There was a resounding battle cry among the men as they all dispersed back to their tents to bed down for the night. Blaine was surprised that no one was sticking around to punch him in the face. Riding next to the Vintenar was a great honor. Slowly, Blaine trudged back toward his tent.

“Blaine?”

“Yes, sir?” he asked, turning back to Lord Smythe who was watching him.

“I'm counting on you tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Blaine replied. He escaped to his tent and curled up on the ground to sleep. His mind was racing and he couldn't concentrate. He rolled side to side, restless. Finally, well after he should have, Blaine settled onto his back and closed his eyes firmly. He concentrated on slowing his breathing and relaxing. If he couldn't fall asleep, tomorrow would be a very long day.

* * *

Blaine had never heard anything more unpleasant than the clashing of swords and spears and the cries of men wounded and dying. From astride his horse next to the Vintenar, he could hear everything perfectly. They were the last wave, and from their position on the hill, it was clear that there would still be plenty of fighting to do when it was their turn to advance. Enemy soldiers were slashing at the Hucal army with all their might, cutting men down quickly. 

Beside him on his white steed, Lord Smythe was unsettled, and the horse could sense it. He kept prancing side to side, bumping into Blaine's smaller brown mount.

“Stop!” Lord Smythe hissed at the horse for the hundredth time. “Stop moving!” He kept pulling back on the horse’s reins, trying to get it to stop prancing, but nothing was working. Finally, the Vintenar gave up on trying to get the horse to be still. Instead, he looked at Blaine and down the line of men on horseback. “Ready men?” he called as loudly as he dared.

“Ready,” came the response.

“Charge!” Lord Smythe called, spurring his eager mount into action. 

The line of mounted soldiers tore down the hill toward the battle site, swords and spears raised for an attack.

Blaine felt his stomach drop the closer they got to the men already fighting. There were so many enemy soldiers left, and they were big men with angry snarls on their faces and bloodied sword tips. Blaine was sure he was going to die, but he attacked anyway, slashing at a few men below as his horse entered the fight.

The scent of blood was completely overwhelming. The metallic smell entered his nose, and he could taste it soon after. He wanted to vomit. But, he kept his head about him, focusing on the enemy soldiers charging at him and his horse. He swung his sword valiantly as he made pass after pass through the writhing sea of bodies on the ground in front of him. Soldiers swung at him from both sides, causing adrenaline to course through his body each time he avoided one. He felt the wind from several of the blades as they swished by him, but he managed to avoid them all.

There was only one man who was able to get at him. He was fighting a man to his left, swiping his sword at his head, making contact twice. An enemy soldier to his right, however, went mostly unnoticed. The burly soldier was able to get in one swift swipe of his blade, leaving a thin, jagged cut on Blaine's right arm. It was really more of a scratch. Luckily, his shirt was able to do the job of protecting most of his skin from the slice.

After Blaine and the other mounted soldiers entered the fight, most of the enemy began to admit defeat. Some ran back toward the area they had come from, too frightened to continue to fight. Others fell to their knees and begged for mercy, too tired to run. The rest fell at the swords, spears, and bows of Hucal soldiers until there was no one left standing but friends. 

All of the men let out a loud cheer as they realized that they had seized the victory they had been after. It may have been only a small battle, but it seemed like a huge achievement to the band of ragtag countrymen from the village. 

Blaine glanced around at those still standing, noticing that they hadn't lost too many of their own men. A few were on the ground, their faces and clothes badly bloodied from injuries. It was hard to tell if they were all dead, but he was sure that some of them would have the unpleasant task of finding out in just a few minutes. 

The Vintenar instructed his men to round up all of the enemy soldiers. They were to be taken as prisoners of war until Lord Smythe was instructed further, so the enemy found themselves bound and tied behind horses, pieces of cloth shoved in their mouths to keep them from speaking. Many had open, bleeding wounds, and the sight of them made Blaine want to weep and vomit all at once. He had to avoid looking at them; if he threw up now, someone would surely make fun of him.

“Any man on horseback, take our wounded back to our camp. They can't walk; we can't lose any more than we already have.” The Vintenar rode around the battle sight, calling to each man on a horse to pick up a soldier or two. 

Blaine ended up with two wounded men on his horse, one whose leg was severely cut up and another who was in and out of consciousness, forcing Blaine to hold him up the entire ride back to camp. He was glad when he arrived and was able to give the wounded men over to those who actually knew how to care for them. 

With nothing else required of him, Blaine retreated to his tent. He wrapped his wounded arm in some of the clean cloth he was given, making sure to splash some alcohol in the cut first. It stung like crazy, but his mother had always said that alcohol made it clean. So, he wrapped it up tightly and sat on his thin blanket in his tent, thinking.

He knew the war was far from over. Just because they'd won a small battle here today didn’t mean the whole war had been won. He knew there were many other groups of enemy soldiers fighting groups of Hucal men all over the kingdom. Not everyone was so lucky as they had been; many of the battles resulted in the loss of most of the Hucal soldiers, while others were undoubtedly taken as prisoners of war. Lord Smythe made sure to tell them any war news as soon as it reached him. He wanted his men to know exactly what they were up against. The enemy soldiers would not give in easily.

Blaine sighed. He hated war. He shook his head, thinking back to himself as an eight-year-old, eager for a fight. He'd been so young then, too uneducated to understand that war was not a fun game. It was serious. This one battle had led him to believe that he, while able to fight fairly well with a sword on horseback, was no match for a large enemy on the ground. He didn't know how to do much besides swing his sword back and forth, hoping that the blade would make fatal contact with an enemy. He felt so unprepared to go into another battle. As he thought about the best way to tell Lord Smythe this, he heard a voice just outside his tent.

“Blaine?”

Slowly, Blaine stuck his head out of the tent to see Lord Smythe standing there. He looked at him questioningly, not saying anything.

“May I come in? I'd like to talk with you about the battle today,” Lord Smythe said, looking around. “Hurry before someone else sees me.”

Confused but unwilling to disobey what sounded like an order, Blaine moved aside, allowing Lord Smythe into his tent. The taller man settled onto the floor, crossing his legs and looking at Blaine seriously. He eyed the bandage on the boy's arm and asked, concerned, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just a scratch.”

“Thank goodness,” Lord Smythe said, looking genuinely relieved. “I was worried about you out there.” His voice was quiet and gentle, but Blaine felt he could sense something else in his voice, something familiar that he couldn't place.

Blaine shrugged. “I'm fine. No harm done, really.”

“You did quite well today,” the Lord said as he scooted a bit closer to Blaine.

“Thanks.” The Vintenar's closeness was making him uncomfortable. He scooted back a bit, disappointed when he felt the tent material against his back.

Lord Smythe scooted forward again. His hand floated up to land on Blaine's cheek. “I don't know what I'd do if you didn't make it out of that battle.”

Blaine pushed his hand down away from his face. He wasn't sure what to say to that sentiment, so he simply shrugged, wordless.

“I've been really impressed with you.”

“Thanks?”

Lord Smythe leaned forward, elbows on his knees so his nose was mere inches from Blaine's. “I've taken a real interest in you, Blaine.”

“You don't have to, Sir,” Blaine said, leaning as far away from the man as he could, which wasn't that far at all. “I'm okay.”

“And I'm so glad for that,” the Vintenar said. His eyes seemed to search Blaine's for a moment. Then, without warning, he closed the rest of the gap between them. His lips met Blaine's in a hard, demanding kiss. His hands came up to the sides of Blaine's face to hold him in place as their lips smashed together in a tense moment of confusion between the two men.


	7. War Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for non-con, war wounds, POW, and stabbing in this chapter.

“Get--get off of me!” Blaine sputtered, pushing against Lord Smythe's shoulders. He glared at the man across the tent, curling into himself and hugging his knees. 

The Vintenar sneered at him. “I'm better than anything you'll ever have. You'd do well to let me have you.”

“Get out,” Blaine growled between his teeth. “Leave me alone.” He continued to glare at the man, not giving him an inch.

“Fine,” Lord Smythe chuckled quietly. “I'll leave. But, I'll be back.” He scooted toward the door, turning back to Blaine quickly. “You will be mine,” he said harshly, all traces of joking gone. “I always get what I want, and I want you.” With that, he disappeared, leaving Blaine trembling with anger and fear.

“I hate you,” Blaine whispered, staring at the tent flap. “I hate you.” He felt a sense of loathing building in his chest. It was a strange but familiar feeling, nearly as deep and personal as the rage he'd felt at the man who'd killed his father. “I'm Kurt's,” he whispered fiercely. “I'm Kurt's, and you can't take that away from me. He loves me, and I love him. He loves me. He loves me.” He continued to repeat the sentiment until tears pricked his eyes. He laid down on his side, never letting go of his knees and continued to cry until he fell asleep.

* * *

As much as Blaine wanted to forget his terrible encounter with Lord Smythe, he couldn't. No matter what he did or said, the Vintenar continued with his advances, visiting Blaine nearly every night to try to make his move. Some nights, it was easy to ward him off. Blaine would go into his tent and curl up, waiting for Lord Smythe to pay his visit. If the Lord came and Blaine refused to respond, he'd leave. He didn't want his loving to be unappreciated. However, when he'd had a bit too much to drink like he did after most battles or close calls, Blaine could do nothing but fight until he left. And Lord Smythe did not like to take no for an answer. He would kiss Blaine repeatedly, grab at him and try to grope him or take down his trousers. It would be all Blaine could do to keep himself protected from the uncoordinated attempts. On those nights, he would fall asleep weeping for Kurt. 

Because of these almost nightly visits, Blaine's sleep wasn't restful or rejuvenating in the least. What little of it he got was riddled with dreams of Kurt finding out about Lord Smythe's kisses or of dying in battle. Blaine would wake up sweaty and shivering in fright. He was rarely able to return to sleep once he woke up, no matter the hour, and his performances in battles and practices began to suffer from it. He made mistakes he could easily avoid, he tripped and stumbled in the midst of hand to hand combat, and more than once he found himself on his back staring up at the blunt edge of a sword at the hand of one of his fellow soldiers.

That is until one day, it wasn't the blunt edge of a sword. It wasn't one of his fellow soldiers. It was the enemy wielding a very sharp, likely very painful sword, and Blaine was sure that he was going to die. The shiny tip seemed to float above him for eternity, never really moving up or down as Blaine stared at it in fear and shock. All around him, the bloody battle raged. The sounds of men being stabbed and killed, their screams of pain, could be heard across the battlefield. Blaine, however, could hear nothing outside of the rushing of his own blood and the rapid beating of his heart.

He tried to picture Kurt in his mind. He tried to see his beautiful, blue eyes and his adorable smile. He tried to imagine his head on his shoulder as they lay together in the dark forest. He tried to imagine Kurt holding him in his arms, saying his name over and over again as he pet his hair. He closed his eyes to imagine it better, one part of his brain waiting for the sword to pierce his chest, the other hoping that Kurt could somehow be there to care for him in his last moments. Instead of the sharp stab of a sword, however, Blaine felt the sudden weight of another body landing on top of his own.

He cracked his eyes open just a bit, trying to see what was going on around him, but he couldn't see anything other than a mass on top of him. Part of another man's body had fallen across his face, shrouding him in darkness. He wiggled his arms and legs, checking to see if he was able to move. His arms gave him no pain, but when he tried to move his right leg, he let out a loud moan at the intense wave of agony that ripped through him. Something wasn't right and he knew in that moment that there was no way he could walk.

He could hear moans coming from the body on top of him, meaning the stranger wasn't dead. Using all of his strength, Blaine pushed at the body on top of him until he felt it move, sliding to his right. He pushed and pushed until he could see. Whoever this was, they were heavy and in a large amount of pain. They screamed through every inch he moved their body.

Once he had them completely removed, he propped himself up on his elbows, taking in the chaos around him. The man who'd had him at sword point lay to his left, dead. The field around him was littered with bodies from both sides, some writhing in pain, others frozen in death. He could see more fighting occurring to his left, and the edge of the clearing they were in. Quickly, he laid back down and tried to look very injured. The enemy appeared to be winning, and he didn't want anyone running over to kill him before he'd had a chance to try to figure out how to escape.

“Blaine,” a ragged voice next to him called, quiet and harsh against the hype of the battle.

Blaine turned quickly to his right, grimacing when he accidentally put pressure on his injured leg. When he took in the face of the man he’d shoved off of him, his mouth fell open. “Lord Smythe?” he whispered. It was hard to recognize the crumpled, bleeding man on the ground, but his voice sounded familiar. 

“Blaine,” the man rasped again, rolling painfully onto his side to face Blaine. He reached out a shaky, dirt-caked hand to touch Blaine's cheeks. “Be strong,” he whispered, stroking with his thumb. 

“A-Are you hurt?” Blaine asked quietly, though he knew the answer. 

“Stabbed,” Lord Smythe managed. “Killing yo-your man.” He pointed toward the dead enemy soldier that lay nearby. “Didn't wa-want you t-to die.”

“Thank you,” Blaine gasped. Despite everything Lord Smythe had done or said to him over the past several weeks, he was grateful he'd saved his life. For now. 

The Lord took another shaky breath. A determined look took over his face as if he was willing himself to get through what he had to say next before succumbing to the inevitable. “I l-loved you,” he said, reaching out for Blaine again.The boy grabbed the outstretched hand instead, and Lord Smythe held on tightly, desperate to finish. “I know you c-could never love me back...” He paused, breathing through a wave of pain, eyes closing for a moment. “You-your heart must belong to so-some-someone very special.” He drew another ragged breath.

Blaine nodded, wincing as his wounded leg twitched just a bit. “Very special,” he agreed, smiling at the mere thought of Kurt. 

“You're...lucky...” The Vintenar was breathing heavily, unable to keep his eyes open. His words were soft, and his grip on Blaine's hand had lessened quite a bit. “I...wasn't...” There was a long pause. Then, “No one...ever...loved me...”

“I'm sure that's not true,” Blaine said, rubbing his thumb over the Vintenar's hand fondly. “Someone loved you.”

The Lord shook his head, and Blaine could tell that it was taking almost all of his strength. “No one.”

Blaine thought for a moment. He wanted to make Lord Smythe feel better in his last moments. He wanted him to know that he'd made a difference in the world, but he didn't want to lie to him. Blaine knew nothing about him. He didn't know what he was like outside of war, and it appeared he never would unless the fighting ended quickly. Finally, he settled on something he felt was honest but would make the Lord feel better. “I may not have loved you,” he began, “but I think you are a hell of a leader. You never show fear. You just charge into battle with no thought for your own safety. You risked your life for me, and I can never repay you.” He paused, patting the Lord's hand affectionately. “Even if you never found  _ your  _ man, all your men love you.”

There were tears in the Vintenar's eyes, though Blaine wasn't sure he'd heard everything he said. Lord Smythe was quiet for a long time. The only sound was his slow, shallow, tired breathing. “Thank you,” he finally whispered, cracking his eyes open far enough to take in Blaine's face for a moment. “Thank you.” With that, his eyes fell closed once again, and, after a few more small breaths, his body shuddered in death. And Blaine was alone.

Blaine lay there on his back, trying not to move, staring at the sky. A few tears prickled at the back of his eyes. His emotions toward the late Vintenar were mixed, and he wasn't sure how to feel about his passing. His wounded leg shifted a bit as he rolled to look toward where the battle had been raging not long before, and a loud, pained sound escaped his lips. He quickly cut his eyes toward the battlefield, but he could no longer see any fighting. They must have been defeated. He scanned as far as he could see for enemy soldiers, but no one was visible outside of the dead and wounded bodies scattered across the battleground. 

Just as he was about to move again, a voice from above him taunted, “Careful, or you'll scream.”

Slowly, Blaine moved just his upper body so he could see who the voice had come from.

“You're hurt,” the stranger observed, nodding to Blaine's leg. “Anywhere else?”

“No,” Blaine whispered, shaking his head.

“Excellent. We'll put you on a horse then. Thad,” the man called over his shoulder. “Get this man a horse.”

Blaine was confused. He didn't recognize the man standing over him. He was tall and lanky, head of chestnut brown hair falling into his eyes. He looked more like a boy than a man, but the commanding tone he had made Blaine easily believe he was in charge.

“Lord Hunter, sir,” said another voice, bowing as he approached, a horse's reins in hand. Carefully, he leaned down and helped Blaine to his feet before assisting him to mount the horse. Then, Thad guided the horse over to a group of soldiers that Blaine recognized as the enemy. The horses were decorated with the Kingdom of Argent's colorful banners, some green, some red, and some blue. Each horse had at least one enemy rider. Some had two. Many had Blaine's fellow soldiers tied behind as prisoners of war.

The man in charge rode around the field slowly, checking for other survivors. Every once in awhile, he'd call for one of his men to retrieve another fallen man. Finally, he rode back to the group of gathered soldiers. “Men, we ride,” he announced loudly, throwing a fist into the air. “Tonight, we'll be home.”

Blaine gulped as Thad spurred their horse into a trot, following Lord Hunter in a single file line down the trail. This was serious. He was an injured prisoner of war who was being taken back to the walls of the enemy city. He had no doubt in his mind that he was going to die.


	8. Prison and Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter takes place inside a dungeon.

Blaine woke from a deep sleep in an unfamiliar, uncomfortable, dark, cold room of some kind. The stone walls were rough and uneven behind his back. He moaned as he sat up, the pain he was feeling finally registering in his mind. He didn't remember most of their journey back to Argent. Due to the pain in his leg and the loss of blood, he had been mercifully in and out of consciousness, unable to remember most of the long, uncomfortable ride.

Sparing a glance at his leg, he realized someone had been kind enough to bandage it for him. He'd been changed out of his clothes, too, into some dirty gray shirt and trousers. They were stiff and scratchy, stained and worn. Blaine absently wondered if someone had died in them, but he shrugged it off. It didn't really matter. 

Blaine shuffled to the front of the room. His cell, he imagined, based on the heavy metal bars at the front. He craned his neck to look on either side of him. There was nothing much to see but more cells. They bordered him on three sides. A long line of cells occupied the wall opposite him. The light was dim and flickery, coming from wooden torches held firmly against the wall. Blaine shuddered.  _ “What a terrible place to be,” _ he thought to himself as he took in his surroundings.

Suddenly, a man appeared in the cell across from him looking, haggard and dirty. His eyes were wide, and he looked at Blaine curiously, his head cocked to one side.

Blaine waved hesitantly to get the man's attention. “Where are we?” he asked, just checking to be sure his hunch was correct.

“Dungeon,” came the reply.

“In Argent?”

A nod of confirmation. “We're going to die,” the man informed him casually in a cracked tone.

“Ho-how do you know that?” Blaine's voice was shaky, nervous.

“That's what they do with the prisoners. If you fight for King Burt, you die.”

Blaine felt a surge of familiar rage at the King's name. He was going to be put to death for fighting for the old man, the same one who had ordered the death of his father. If it wasn't for Kurt...Blaine remembered his love, how heartbroken he was going to be when he didn't come home like he'd promised. Immediately, all the anger he'd felt toward the King dissolved into fear, panic, and sadness, and he felt tears threatening at the back of his eyes. “When?” he whispered, just loud enough for the other inmate to hear. “When are they going to do it.”

The dirty man shrugged. “Dunno. Could be today. Could be tomorrow. Could be next week. Could be next year.” Then, he disappeared back into the darkness of his own cell without really helping Blaine at all.

With gritted teeth, Blaine scooted back into the darkness, his cheeks already damp with tears. Kurt. His Kurt. What was going to happen to his Prince now that he was going to die? He couldn't bear the thought of Kurt never knowing what happened to him, the thought of him waiting and waiting and waiting for him to come home while Blaine's body lay at the bottom of a shallow pit somewhere. It broke his heart to imagine how much Kurt would cry when it finally became clear that he wasn't coming home. 

Blaine's heart ached and his anger burned just imagining his Prince on another man's arm, but there was nothing he could do about it now, no way for him to get a letter home to his love. And so, he let his head fall back against the stones of his cell as tears ran down his cheeks, slipping off his chin and onto the worn, dirty shirt.

Blaine didn't know how long he sat there crying, but eventually, his tears dried up. The heavy, achy, sad feeling in his chest never did, and the hours seemed to drag by at an unsettlingly slow speed. He wasn’t even sure at this point if hours were even passing at all. 

Eventually, Blaine stopped imagining how awful it would be for Kurt to discover he wasn't coming home and turned instead to imagining what life could have been like if he had. He could just see them, lying in a grassy meadow, staring up at the sky. They wouldn't have to hide anymore if he came home; Blaine himself would march up to the King and tell him he was in love with his son, and that would be the end of that. So, he and Kurt would then be free to do whatever they wanted. They could watch the night sky in the castle garden. They could go for long walks beside the stream. They could ride horses, take carriage rides, or dance in the castle ballroom without caring who saw them. They could do whatever they wanted because Kurt would be the King, and Blaine would be his partner. He'd even be the Queen if that's what they wanted. Nothing would matter so much as being with Kurt. 

Then Blaine's mind went to more romantic things, like what it would be like to ravish Kurt on his bed instead of a cloak in the dark woods. He imagined kissing him deeply and passionately as they made love, exploring each other without worrying about getting caught. He thought about how nice it would have been to spend an entire, lazy day with Kurt, naked, loving one another however and whenever they wanted. He daydreamed about their wedding, about the beautiful bouquets, the songs, the glorious sunshine streaming in through the windows as he walked down the aisle toward the Prince. He imagined looking into Kurt's eyes as they held hands, reciting vows about how much he loved him, how he'd never let him go, and how he'd do anything for him. He pictured them walking out into the courtyard, hand in hand, as his mother smiled and cried and the villagers threw seeds at them and wished them well.

After that, his mind traveled to more domestic things, imagining what it would be like to raise their children. A small smile lit up his face as he thought about the sounds of tiny feet scampering through the castle, the sounds of delighted squeals and shrieks echoing through the halls as he and Kurt sat and sipped tea in the dining hall. He imagined holding his children as babies, how precious and tiny they looked, each little hand and toe and nose perfect. He imagined smiling with pride as his children learned to fence and ride horses and act like perfect princes and princesses. 

He sighed heavily. He was going to miss all of it. He was never going to see any of it. He had no future, not with Kurt, not with children, not even with himself. A sad little whimper escaped his lips as his brain tried once again to come to terms with his new situation. He'd known that death was a real possibility after being taken captive. Regardless of the kingdom, this was what usually happened to prisoners. Hearing someone else pronounce it as truth, however, was something else entirely, and he wasn't quite ready to accept that.

The tears were just beginning to flow again when he heard a voice that made him stop wallowing in self-pity for a moment and pay attention. It was distant, but it was the first voice he'd heard since his strange conversation with the dirty man across the hall. He sat up, alert, listening, and straining to hear what the voice was saying. It got louder and louder, seeming to be headed toward him. Then, he heard the squeak of a door, and the voice continued, clearly talking to someone else. “...King's orders,” he heard the voice say. “Tonight, you're watching the prisoners. We've got a bunch of new ones from Lord Hunter's victory today.”

“As the King wishes,” came a second voice, a voice that made Blaine's heart quit beating and his breath catch in his throat. He knew that voice. He knew that...that person. As quickly as he could so as to not cause himself too much pain, he hustled to the front of his cell, craning his neck out to see if he could catch a glimpse of who he knew that voice had to belong to. A quick movement to his right caught his eye, and he watched the spot until something came into view again. The two figures were still talking, but Blaine had all but tuned out what they were saying. All that mattered was catching a glimpse of the people talking. The voices headed right toward him, and he waited eagerly, sputtering as they walked past, “C-Coop? Is that you, Cooper?” His voice shook as he looked up at the unmistakable frame of his brother.

Cooper didn't stop, however. He didn't look down at Blaine or even acknowledge Blaine's presence. He just kept walking, head held high, listening to his companion talk.

Blaine was heartbroken. Did Cooper not remember him? Was that not actually Coop? Blaine knew he had grown up since his brother saw him last; he knew that things had changed, but that was still Coop. He was sure of it. The brother he'd thought was dead was definitely  _ not _ dead. He was very much alive, walking down the dungeon hallway in Argent.

Pushing away from the cell bars, Blaine felt tears prickling his eyes again. He'd thought he was out of tears, but he wept some more. Cooper didn't remember him. The flickering hope he hadn't even realized he had until that very moment was gone again, just like that. He was a prisoner, a nobody, nothing but scum to his brother now.

Blaine didn't know how long he sat there in his cell, crying and wishing to be a child again, but it must have been quite a while. Somewhere amidst the crying, his eyes grew heavy, and Blaine fell asleep. He woke with a start to a rattling sound somewhere nearby. If it was possible, the cell he was in had grown even darker, heavy shadows all around him. He squinted toward the cell bars, trying to see if someone or something was there, but it was too dark.

Then, he heard a “Psst!”

“Who's there?” he called softly, scooting forward and muffling a moan as he'd forgotten about his injured and throbbing leg.

“Blaine, it's me. It's Cooper.”

“Coop?” Blaine could barely believe what he was hearing. Cooper did remember him? He scooted forward with more urgency now, careful of his leg. If he thought he could, he would get up and walk, but he was afraid that he would be hurt even worse.

“Yeah. It's me,” the allusive Cooper said as Blaine scooted forward. “Sorry about earlier.”

“I didn't think you even remembered me,” Blaine said, finally in the light. He looked up, right into his brother's face, and a huge smile broke across his own. “I thought you were dead.”

“Nah,” Cooper scoffed, glancing both directions down the hallway. “I'm working for the Queen. When I ran away from you and Mother that day, I ended up here. Queen Sylvester put me to work as a squire, and I've worked my way up to night watch. It's just luck that I'm in the dungeon tonight. I'm usually out on the wall.”

Blaine suddenly felt anger bubbling up, and he lashed out at his brother, socking him in the kneecap. “Why did you leave Mother and me?” he snarled, glaring up at his brother. “We thought you were dead. Mother was heartbroken.”

“Ow!” Cooper hopped up and down, holding his injured leg. “I'm sorry. It was better than living like a pauper for the rest of my life. I'd have ended up as a prisoner, just like you are now. It was better this way.” He glanced down the hallway again. “I have to go,” he said, turning away. He remembered something else, though, and spun back around, fixing Blaine with a look. “Don't talk to me again when I'm with another guard. No one can know that I know you, or they'll have me beheaded for conspiracy.” He pointed a long finger at Blaine. “If I'm with someone else, you have to keep quiet. Do you understand me?”

Blaine nodded. This wasn't how his reunion with his brother was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to punch him. Coop wasn't supposed to tell him not to talk to him. They were supposed to hug and laugh and remember the good times they had back at the castle before their whole life was turned upside down. Instead, Cooper was walking away and leaving his wounded little brother to die. “Coop, wait!” Blaine called out, frantically rising to his feet. His legs were extremely sore, the injured one screaming in pain as he put his weight on it, but he didn't care. This was important.

Cooper spun around again, looking at Blaine but not moving any closer. “What?” he asked, angry.

“You have to help me. Please. They're going to kill me, and I—I have a...” he looked around, not wanting to say it out loud.

Cooper moved a few steps closer, still watching his brother.

“I have a boyfriend. The Prince of Hucal,” Blaine whispered, looking imploringly at his brother. “Please help me, Coop.”

“Why should I help you?” Cooper was obviously infuriated. “When I come to talk to you, you punch me then tell me you're having a fling with the enemy Prince!” He looked around again to make sure no one else was listening, approaching the bars of Blaine's cell again. “I can't do anything for you. You're my brother and for that fact alone, I wish I could. But I can’t, and I'm sorry.”

“Cooper, I know. I know this isn’t the best of circumstances for our reunion, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have punched you.” Blaine’s words tumbled out in a waterfall; he was eager to say what he needed to say before Cooper walked away again. “I promise that my relationship with the Prince isn't a fling. It-it's real. I love him.”

Cooper looked skeptical. “You love him? When he finds out who you are, he'll have you arrested and killed, even if you do make it home.”   
  
“No!” Blaine shook his head adamantly. “He already knows. He already knows, and it's okay. He loves me, too. He's...he's my soulmate, Coop. I love him. Please help me get home? If not for me then for Mother?” He felt like he was begging, but he didn't care. He'd beg on his knees if he had to. Cooper was his only shot at getting out of this God-forsaken place, and he had to convince him or die trying. He hoped that pulling the “Mother” card would get him to comply, even if he didn’t particularly care for his brother anymore. Blaine was banking on Cooper still caring about their mother. He realized he’d called Kurt his soulmate, something he’d never done before. It hadn’t been a slip, though. He’d meant it.

There were those eyes, those wounded puppy dog eyes that Cooper had never been able to resist with his little brother. The way he looked so sad, so let down, was bad enough. But to see the tears welling up in those little green pools was more than he could take. He sighed. “Fine. I'll try. I'm not making any promises that I'm going to be able to help you. But, if I can, and that’s a big if, it might take a while.”

Blaine nodded. “Fine. I don't care. If you can help me, I don’t care how long it takes. Thank you, Coop. Thank you.” He wanted to embrace his brother, but it was a difficult task with the bars between them. So, he settled for sticking his hand out instead.

Cooper took it, shaking it for the briefest moment. “I'm glad I saw you, little brother,” he said, smiling at his brother. 

Blaine thought he could see tears beginning to well up in his brother's eyes. “Me, too,” he replied. “Me, too. I'm glad you're not dead.”

Cooper chuckled at that, dropping Blaine's hand and walking down the hallway.

Blaine watched him go for a moment before it hurt his neck too much to watch any longer. With a heavy sigh, he sunk back down to the floor, wincing as his injured leg twisted in the process. Somehow, the pain didn't seem so bad now. Blaine wasn't sure if it was because it was already starting to heal or because he had hope again; the reason didn’t really matter. Cooper was alive and well. And Blaine was possibly not going to die.


	9. Dreaming of Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for death sentencing in this chapter.

Thirteen days had passed since Blaine had seen Cooper, and he was starting to get worried. He looked for him every night, waiting eagerly by his cell bars to even catch a glimpse of his brother. He always hoped for a wink or some sign to tell him that Cooper was figuring out a way to set him free. It was hard to get a sign when he never saw his brother at all, though. He vacillated between nervousness and hope, nervous that maybe someone had found out about Coop's relationship to Blaine, told the Queen, and Cooper had been killed, Yet hopeful because he knew that his brother didn't usually work in the dungeon; that was the reason he hadn’t seen him again. Finally, on the fourteenth day, he did see Cooper.

“Psst! Coop,” he called when his brother was finally alone. He beckoned with his hand.

Cooper looked around to make sure no one else was watching then ventured toward Blaine's cell. He cocked an eyebrow in question.

“Do you know how to get me out?” Blaine whispered, not wanting anyone else to hear about the escape plan.

Cooper shook his head sadly. “Sorry,” he mouthed.

“Will it be soon?” Blaine asked, hopeful despite the doubtful expression on his brother's face.

All Cooper could do was shrug.

Despite knowing he'd get no other answer, Blaine asked, “How much longer, Coop?” his voice falling into a deep tone that conveyed just how painful it was to wait.

“Just wait a while longer, Blaine,” Cooper whispered before turning away.

Keeping track with haphazardly carved tally marks in his cell, Blaine didn't see Cooper again until day 34. This time, Blaine didn't even get the chance to ask him anything.

In response to his brother's raised eyebrow, Cooper whispered, “Just wait a while longer, Blaine.”

The same thing happened on day 48 and day 63. By day 77, word was starting to filter around the cell that the Queen had ordered the beheading of all of the prisoners in her dungeon. It seemed they were losing the war, and she wanted to give King Burt no reason to attack the castle of Argent.

So, when Blaine saw his brother on day 79, he was eager for news. He didn't give his brother time to ignore him, asking as soon as he could, “Can you get me out?” He didn’t even bother to ask when.

Cooper didn't answer him. Instead, he continued his patrol, walking past all the cells and checking on each prisoner.

When Cooper walked back by, Blaine tried again. “Coop, can you help me?”

Cooper stopped in his tracks, not moving, not talking. He stared at the floor for a long moment, and Blaine spotted a tear rolling down his cheek. When he finally turned his head toward the younger man, there were more tears threatening to spill over. Slowly, he made his way to Blaine's cell and leaned heavily against the bars. 

“I don't know,” he whispered, voice raw with emotion. “I don't know if I can help you. The Queen has scheduled the executions for two days from now, and I'm no closer to getting you out than I was the day you came. Every plan I’ve thought of involves too much risk of one or both of us getting caught.” He let his head fall forward as more tears streamed silently down his face. “I can't watch them kill you, Blaine. I can't. But, I just don't know what to do.”

Blaine swallowed hard. As he watched his brother fighting his emotions, he bit back tears himself. He was scared. He was more than scared; he was terrified. Cooper had just confirmed that Queen Sylvester was going to have the prisoner's killed, and it sounded like his brother was admitting defeat, saying he wasn't going to be able to get him out of prison. For the first time since his imprisonment, Blaine felt the dread that had been lurking over his head settle firmly onto his shoulders. The realization that he was living in his final hours hit him like a load of bricks. But, he didn't let his fear show. Cooper had always been brave for him when he was a child. Now, it was his turn to be brave for Coop. Silently, he put a hand over one of Coopers, rubbing lightly over his knuckles to get his attention. “It's okay,” he whispered when his brother's teary eyes met his own. “I know you've been trying.”

“Blaine, it's not okay!” Cooper shook his head sadly, his face red. “You’re going to die, and I haven’t done anything to stop it from happening.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he bit his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth forming a tight line. “I'm sorry,” he whispered after a long moment. “I'm so, so sorry, Blaine.”

“Coop? Cou-could you promise me something?” Blaine's voice shook as he asked, but he was determined not to cry until his brother had left him. “After this is...all over, can you write a letter to Kurt and Mother, let them know why I never came home?” He waited for his brother to respond, never letting go of Cooper's hand.

There was silence in the entire dungeon as Blaine waited, and it was as if the entire dungeon could feel the tension between the two men; but, no one wanted to break it. Blaine was almost afraid that Cooper hadn't heard him. He was about to repeat himself when Cooper suddenly jerked his hand from beneath Blaine's, gripping the cell bars so hard his knuckles turned white. He looked down at Blaine severely as he shook his head. “No. No, I won't write to Kurt. I won’t write to Mother. You're going home. You're going to see them. I don't care if I die, but you're not dying here.” There was a note of finality in his voice.

Blaine wanted to shake his head, to disagree, tell Cooper it was okay; he didn't have to try anymore. But he never got the chance. Cooper nodded once and turned from the cell, walking away down the corridor to finish his patrol. There was a new sound to his steps, something heavier and more determined, not like the sad, slow plod he'd been using before their conversation.

After watching his brother walk away from his cell, Blaine sank back into the shadows, letting his back slump against the cold, stone wall. His leg was mostly healed now, only giving him pain when he sat or stood on it for too long. He smelled horrid, though, and he was sure he looked just as bad. He hadn’t been able to bathe in God knows how long, his hair was long, stringy, and greasy, and his skin seemed to be permanently stained with dirt. He shuddered at the thought of what Kurt would think if he saw him. Maybe it would be best if he didn’t make it home. 

He hugged his knees to his chest as he put his head down. The tears that he'd been holding in flowed freely down his cheeks. It didn't matter what Cooper said. Blaine had to prepare himself for the possibility that he was living his last few days on this earth. Coop had been trying to help him for nearly three months. What made him think that he'd be able to come up with a plausible solution in just a few days?

Blaine allowed himself to cry for a while, giving in to that dark space in his head where nothing mattered but his sadness. He didn't think about anything or anyone, just let himself wallow in his grief and self-pity for a few minutes. A man with a death sentence could do that, he decided. After he had allowed himself those few moments, he told himself to buck up. If he only had two days to live, he was going to live them how he wanted to, lost in an elaborate daydream about his true love. So, finding a relatively comfy spot against the solid wall, he let his head fall back, his eyes to wander to the ceiling, and his mind to lose itself in what would be the most glorious daydream he'd yet to create. Everything was going to be exactly perfect.

* * *

True to his word, Queen Sylvester ordered that all the Hucal prisoners should be rounded up for their executions two days after Cooper had visited Blaine. Before it was even light outside, a group of the Queen’s royal guard swept through the dungeon, pulling prisoners out of their cells, shoving bags over their heads, and marching them roughly out of the dungeon toward the chopping block.

Blaine was terrified. His knees trembled, and he felt as though he was going to vomit as he was pushed out into the cold drizzle of that fateful morning. He could hear people shouting, men begging for their lives, and a myriad of other noises that made him feel dizzy and disoriented. Unable to see, he kept tripping and stumbling as someone pushed him along. Finally, they pulled him to an abrupt halt, and he could hear chains clanking as something cold and solid locked around his wrists. This was it. There was no escaping now. Despite not being sure if he really believed, Blaine sent up a few prayers, asking for everything to go smoothly and for Kurt to be happy without him. Then, he focused on breathing evenly to try to calm his nerves. There was no sense panicking when he couldn't do anything to help himself.

It helped to focus on his breathing. Blaine lost all track of time, not even thinking as he shuffled forward with each tug he felt on the chains bound around his wrists. He blocked out the sounds of the screaming, crying, and begging. He put himself back into his daydream, trying to finish to the end. He could see himself and Kurt in old age, as in love as ever, sitting in the castle. He could see Kurt sitting at his bedside, holding his hand and whispering sweet nothings into his ear as he drifted off to sleep, peacefully, for the last time. The bed he was lying on was warm and familiar, and he felt wrapped in Kurt's love. That was how he was going to imagine his end, no matter how cold and hostile it would be in real life.

A firm grip on his bicep pulled him out of his daydream, and he started, the fear he'd been trying so hard to suppress was rising back to the surface, as was the bile in the back of his throat. It must be his turn for the chopping block.

“Your business?” asked a rough voice.

“For the Queen,” came the muffled reply.

Then, Blaine felt the cold metal around his wrists fall away, and he was moving again, quickly. He wasn't sure where he was going, but the voices that had been so loud and dizzying in his ears seemed to grow dimmer, the shouts and begging fading away as well. He wondered what was happening, but with the bag on his head, he had no idea who had him or where he was going.

Finally, when he was just about to ask the stranger who was still firmly gripping his arm, the bag that was over his head was ripped away, and he blinked quickly at the blast of natural light. Squinting around him, he could make out that he was in some sort of small room, the only furniture being a wooden table and chair. There were no windows on the wall he was facing, but he could tell that there must be some behind him because the room was well lit. Still adjusting to the light, he turned to look behind him, wondering who had taken him to this new place. When he looked up, he met the gentle blue eyes of his brother. “Coop?” he asked, surprised.

“You're safe,” Cooper said, smiling, his voice quiet. “I can hide you here until nightfall.”

“Where are we?” Blaine asked, looking around at the meager furnishings.

“Guard house,” Cooper replied, leaning against the end of the table. “I'm on duty today while everyone else is at the executions. You should be safe.”

“Ho-how were you able to get me?”

Cooper shrugged. “Execution day is always a mess. No one ever knows exactly what's going on. I just said I needed you for the Queen’s business.” He shrugged again as if it were no big deal. “No one will probably ever know what happened. It's not like they knew how many of you there were.”

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Blaine had closed the short distance between himself and his brother, throwing his arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you!” He wanted to shout, but he kept his voice down, just in case. “Thank you! Thank you!” he sang over and over again, squeezing his brother. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

“I had to,” Cooper replied, squeezing him back. “I couldn't live with myself if I knew I'd let you die.”

When Blaine finally let go, he glanced at his brother's face, a small smile gracing his lips. Suddenly, his stomach growled loudly, and both boys erupted in laughter.

“Good thing I brought some food along,” Cooper said, reaching into a small bag at his waist that Blaine hadn't noticed before. “It's probably crushed after that hug you gave me, but...” Cooper shrugged, putting it down on the table beside him. “Eat up,” he said.

Blaine nodded, grateful. “Thanks,” he said, grabbing the cloth and unwrapping a small loaf of bread. He took a large bite and couldn't help the tiny moan that escaped his lips. It was the best thing he'd eaten in months. It didn’t smell or taste moldy at all.

“I'm sorry, but you'll have to sit on the floor,” Cooper said, pointing to a spot by the table next to the wall. “Just in case anyone does come in.”

“Foun's goof,” Blaine mumbled around the bread, settling in.

If he was being honest, the day spent with his brother was the best day he'd had in a very long time. Despite still potentially being in danger, Blaine felt relaxed. He and Cooper chatted back and forth for a long time, reminiscing about their childhoods and swapping stories about the war. Around lunch time, Cooper left for a few minutes, coming back with a pail of water and change of clothes.

“What’s that for?” Blaine asked, curious.

“To clean you up. I’m not sending you back to Hucal looking like you haven’t bathed in months.”

Blaine smiled warmly at his brother. “Thanks.” He bathed himself as well as he could. Some of the dirt spots stayed on his skin, but Blaine didn’t mind. He felt cleaner. He dressed in the clean clothes, sighing at the way this fabric didn’t itch his skin or feel like it had been home to rotting flesh.

Cooper, with the knife from his belt, gave his brother a quick haircut and helped him wash the grease from his hair. “You look like a new man!” Coop observed after they were done. “No one will ever recognize you.”

Blaine hugged his brother again. “Thank you. For everything.” The sincerity behind his eyes was not lost on his brother.

After a long pause, Cooper said, “So...tell me about...Kurt.”

Blaine sighed dreamily, looking up at his brother. “He's...wonderful.”

“He must be something. Every time you talk about him, you get this look in your eyes.”

“I get a look? What look?”

“Like you've been bitten by love,” Cooper teased.

Blaine felt his face color a bit. “Yeah, well, Kurt's—he's special.”

“How did you two meet, anyway?” Cooper wanted to know. He kicked his feet up on the table. “He knows about who you are?”

“He saw me fetching water one day and then knocked on my door in the middle of the night,” Blaine confessed. His eyes wandered to a spot on the floor, and he lost focus as he remembered that night. “He told me he needed to talk to me, took my hand, and dragged me off into the woods so no one would see us.” He paused, their nights together playing over again in his mind. “We've talked a lot since then, and, well, we just kind of fell in love. I told him about who I am, what his father did to ours.”

“How can you love him after that?”

Blaine fixed his brother with a glare. “It wasn't Kurt's fault! He was no older than I was. He wasn't involved in that decision.”

“But his father wa--”

“Was the one making the decision,” Blaine cut in, irritated that he had to defend Kurt over this. “I hate his father, but I don't hate Kurt for it. In fact,” he glanced down at his hands, “before I left, I gave him a promise necklace.”

“A promise necklace, huh,” Cooper said, grinning down at his little brother. “How unique of you. What did you promise?” He wiggled his hips suggestively.

“To marry him,” Blaine replied, cheeks pink again. “And that,” he pointed at his brother, “is none of your business.”

“Oh, so you did promise to...” he cut off with another hip wiggle.

Blaine punched Cooper as hard as he could in the arm. “I'm not talking about this with you anymore,” he said.

“Then tell me about Mother.”

In almost no time at all, the two brothers had spent the entire day talking. Not a single soul had come into the guard house all day, and by the time they realized how late it was, the sun had set long ago.

“You have to go,” Cooper said, standing up abruptly. “It's dark, and you have to get as far away from here as you can before the sun comes up.”

“You're not coming?” Blaine asked, confused, standing as well. “Why would you stay here?”

“This is my home,” Cooper said as he dug into the little bag by his hip again. “I work for the Queen. I can't just leave.”

“But, Queen Sylvester is losing to Hucal. King Burt could come and kill you all!”

“I serve the Queen of Argent,” Cooper said, producing another loaf of bread and a folded piece of parchment. “Here,” he handed the items over along with a flask full of water, shoving the used bar of soap into his brother’s hands at the last minute. “Take these. When you go out this door, head south toward the line of trees. Now, go.”

“Coop, please come with me,” Blaine begged, holding the items his brother had given him. “You can live with Mother and me. There will be plenty of work. Hucal has lost so many men to the war.”

“No. Now, go before someone comes to relieve me and sees you.”

Blaine wanted to protest more, but he knew it was no use. Cooper couldn't be swayed once his mind was made up. So, instead, he folded his brother into another tight embrace, holding him for a few long moments before stepping away, his heart feeling heavy again. “Thank you, Cooper,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You're welcome, little brother. Now, get going.”

“I love you,” he said, still not leaving.

“You, too. Go get that man of yours before someone else does.”

With another short hug and a mock salute, Blaine pushed open the guard house door, looking around the tiny building before making his escape into the night. It was hard to see where he was going, but he ran away from the lights of the castle toward some tall shadows in the distance. He would try to find his bearings in the morning. Right now, all he could do was run. His heart ached as he went, wishing he could have convinced Cooper to come along. He knew he would likely never see his brother again, but he tried to hold onto his hope. After all, he'd once thought his brother was dead. At least now he knew Cooper was alive. His mother would be thrilled. His heart began to beat faster, not from the running, he realized, but from excitement. He was going home. He was going home to Kurt.


	10. Victories and Losses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for talk of forced marriage, unhealthy father/son relationship, malnourishment, and trapping in this chapter.

“We won!” King Burt came bursting into the dining hall early one morning. “Did you hear that, Kurt? We won!”

“I heard. That's great news, Father,” Kurt replied, far less enthused. It had been a long five months of worry for him, and while he was glad that the fighting was over, it didn't change much of anything for him really. He still had to wait for his lover to come home. That is, if he'd even survived the war.

King Burt's feet strode heavily across the room, and he fell into his chair with a plop, oblivious to his son’s mood. He was silent as he waited for his servant to butter his bread and pour his ale. After a few large bites and several deep swallows, he cleared his throat, settling back against into his chair and addressing his son. “I think,” he began, meeting his son's eyes, “that it's time you found a mate. Whatever form that may come in, male or female.” When the Prince looked as though he was going to argue, the King held up one hand. “I know what you're going to say. You're not ready. But I am. I'm getting older. We've been involved in a lot of wars. Who knows how long it will be before the stress of running this kingdom or some other King offs me? It's time you found someone so you're ready to become King when I die.”

Kurt didn't think there were enough words in the world to tell his father that he'd already found the person he loved, the man he wanted desperately to marry. How could he tell him that he was in love with a peasant who wasn't really a peasant but a Prince, yet a Prince that King Burt would never approve of? He tried to think of a way to stall or get out of it right then, but nothing was coming to mind. So, with a large gulp, he nodded his head and averted his eyes. “Yes, Father. Whatever you say.”

“It's settled then,” Burt hollered, one of his large fists slamming against the table in his delight. Everything shook, and the King grinned. “We'll set up a ball and invite all of the eligible Princes and Princesses. Perhaps more than one match can be made!” The idea of a prestigious ball excited him.

Kurt smiled graciously. “Thank you, Father,” he said, almost excited himself for the ball. Almost. If there was one thing he loved, it was a good party. He never felt better than when he could put on his best, most fashionable attire and spend the evening impressing everyone with his good taste and social graces. Royalty certainly had its perks at times. Not to mention having a ball would make it incredibly easy to wait for Blaine to come home. All he would have to do was tell the King that he didn't find anyone he liked. That would surely buy him some time.

“Tomorrow night,” the King said, taking a few more bites of his bread. “We'll throw the ball tomorrow night.”

The following night, true to his father's word, Kurt found the castle ballroom overflowing with neighboring kingdom's eligible singles. There were Princes and Princesses everywhere Kurt looked. Some were flirting with one another, some were drinking and loudly jeering at one another, and still others sat solemnly in chairs surrounding the dance floor, watching everyone else with sullen expressions. Kurt decided to join them, taking a seat as far from everyone else as he could. He didn’t want to interact with anyone, let alone dance with anyone. So, he watched as the royal band played song after song as groups of young people danced.

For the most part, everyone left the young Prince alone. A few people came up to talk to him, but no one Kurt would ever dream of spending his life with, not ever in a million years. A scrawny boy by the name of Chandler introduced himself, talking Kurt's ear off without letting him get a word in edgewise. Kurt was glad that the music was so loud; it drowned out most of the talking, and he was easily able to tune him out.

A beautiful, dark-haired Princesses named Mercedes approached him at one point. She was cute and fun to talk to. If he wasn't actively trying to stay away from everyone, Kurt thought that they might have become good friends. It was clear that she thought they would make a good match, but she was gracious when he let her down gently, explaining that he really only had eyes for another Prince.

His most frustrating interaction was with a chatty brunette wearing clothes that were at least three seasons outdated. He thought she said her name was Princess Berry, but later he heard her refer to herself as Rachel. Kurt was very confused. When he told her that he was interested in another Prince, she immediately began babbling about a Prince Finn, wanting to know if Kurt had any advice on how to get him to notice her. Apparently, this Prince Finn had been making eyes at a slender Princess Quinn all night and making out with a Princess Santana. It all sounded like a dramatic mess to Kurt, and while he loved drama, that was not something he wanted to get involved in. So, he waved her off with some generic advice for her to show Prince Finn her assets and was extremely happy when she finally left him alone.

The ball ended in the wee hours of the morning, and Kurt tried to hurry off to bed as soon as the last guest had gone. He was tired, and all he wanted to do was get back to the wonderful dream he'd been having the night before about Blaine. In his dream, the two had been about to make passionate love in Kurt's bed to celebrate Blaine's safe return, but he'd been awakened by the sun and left hard and aching just before they'd begun. However, Burt stopped him outside his chambers.

“How was the ball, son?” King Burt asked, dropping a large, heavy hand on Kurt's shoulders. “Did you meet anyone?”

“A few people,” Kurt replied honestly. “No one I would like to see again, though.”

A deep frown appeared on the King's face. “How is that possible? All of the eligible Princes and Princesses were here. And none of them are good enough for my son?” He looked Kurt up and down as though trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

“I'm sorry, Father,” Kurt tried, hoping the King would give up for the night and let him get to bed.

The King was silent for a moment before sighing deeply. “Well, I'm sure you must be tired. It's late. I'll let you go to bed.”

Gratefully, Kurt took a few steps down the hallway, stopping at the sound of his father's voice.

“We'll just have to have another ball,” the King said. “Maybe you'll find someone suitable next time.”

So there would be a next time. That thought did little to comfort the exhausted Prince, but it was a problem for another time. For now, he was eager to climb into his warm, inviting bed to envision lying in the arms of his warm, inviting lover.

* * *

King Burt threw four more balls before he began to get extremely irritated with his son. “What is the matter with you, Kurt?” he raged one morning at breakfast, a few weeks after the first ball.

“I'm sorry, Father,” Kurt apologized in a shaky voice, tears already threatening to spill down his cheeks. He'd thought this was over. His father had yelled for nearly an hour after the ball the night before, unable to understand how no one in the kingdoms around them could be a good match for him. He'd shouted, he'd paced, he'd shaken his fists. It had been late, and King Burt had been drinking so his perception of time was skewed. He likely didn’t even know that he had shouted and carried on for that long. Eventually, though, he'd sat down and fallen asleep, and Kurt was mercifully able to sneak off to bed and cry himself to sleep.

It had been nearly a month since his father had declared the war to be over. Slowly but surely, groups of ragtag men had been returning to Hucal, including the foot soldiers and their leaders that had survived the many battles. The longer this went on, the more distressed Kurt became. The first time there'd been a bugle call announcing the arrival of an army, he'd sprinted out of his chambers to stand on the balcony and looked for Blaine. To Kurt’s great dismay, there was no sign of him that day. He'd reassured himself that Blaine could still be on his way home. Kurt had no idea where he'd been sent or how long it could take his army to come home. Perhaps word hadn't even reached them yet. He'd give it time. Blaine would come home soon. He'd promised.

And so it had continued every day for nearly four weeks, sometimes more than once a day. A bugle would sound, and he'd dash off to his balcony, scanning the heads of the men for any sign of Blaine. But, none ever looked familiar. And Kurt was beginning to grow discouraged. How much longer could he wait for his boy before he had to assume that he wasn't coming home?

He'd tried to ask his father's advisers how many men they still expected to come back and how long they'd thought it would take, but his advisers were reluctant to give out information without the King's consent. Kurt knew that was horse shit, that he could demand to be told. They would have to listen to him. But a little part of the Prince didn't want to know the answer. Somehow, the suspense was better than knowing that all of the soldiers were home, that they had all returned without Blaine, and it was time to move on.

Kurt didn't want to move on. He knew he probably should, but he didn’t know if he could. Every day that passed was one more sign that Blaine had probably been murdered on the battlefield. The Prince couldn't accept that, however. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt Blaine was coming home. Maybe it was his romantic fantasies toying with his head that made him believe this. He didn't know for sure and wasn’t positive he wanted to figure it out. But, the one thing he did know for certain was that he wasn't ready to give up.

The King had other ideas, however. That morning, at the breakfast table, King Burt gave his son an ultimatum. Burt was done. He was finished ranting and raving, finished screaming about how disrespectful it was for Kurt not to find a suitable mate at the royal balls, finished telling Kurt he was being too picky, finished telling his son that he didn't understand why it was so hard to just pick someone to marry and that on top of that, he'd had a very difficult time understanding him lately. And after all that, with just a hint of a raw throat, he said in a very quiet voice, “I'm going to throw one more ball. If you don't choose someone, I'll be choosing for you.”

That was too much. “Please, Father,” Kurt begged, pushing his chair back from the table and running to his father's side. “I'm just not ready. Please don't make me do this,” he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks.

His father put a hand on his shoulder, his touch much gentler than Kurt expected it to be. Perhaps his tears were softening the man? “Kurt, you're 20 years old. I'm nearing 60. You may not think it's time yet, but it is. I want you to be happy, son. If you can't find someone that makes you happy, I'll find you a match. In time, you'll grow to love them.” He patted Kurt's head as if he were a sad puppy.

“No!” Kurt shouted, rising to his feet suddenly. “You don't want me to be happy. If you want to ship me off with the first man you see, whether I love them or not, you don’t really care about me at all! You just want what’s best for you and Hucal! I will never find someone that makes me happy at those dances, because...because...” he sputtered, unsure if he should tell his father. “Because I already found someone that makes me happy!”

“Who?” the King asked, eyebrow raised.

“He's a peasant boy,” Kurt told him, unwilling to endanger Blaine by revealing his true identity. “He went off to fight in  **your** war. And I'm waiting for him to come back!” He crossed his arms over his chest. The necklace that Blaine had made him, tucked safely inside his shirt, burned like a red hot iron against his flushed skin, reminding him of his boy. Fresh tears filled his eyes as he stared at his father.

King Burt scoffed. “A peasant boy? No peasant will ever be good enough for my son. Put those foolish notions out of your head, Kurt. You can't marry a peasant. You're royalty. You'll find a nice Prince to marry, or I'll find one for you.”

He'd known he wouldn't win this argument but hearing his father's words made him deflate completely. Without another word, he turned and ran down the hallway toward his chambers, sobbing the entire way.

* * *

Blaine didn't know how long he'd been traveling. He wasn't really sure where he was. He was only traveling at night, keeping to the darkest parts of the woods as much as he could. When dawn would break, he would make a point to find somewhere to hide. Thankfully, the woods were full of rocky nooks and crannies that made it easy to find somewhere to curl up. He'd had a few close calls with enemy scouts his first few nights outside of Argent, but thankfully, he'd managed to escape.

Blaine found it frustrating that he couldn't travel as fast as he wanted to. He was weak from the months of imprisonment and malnourishment, and his previously injured leg wasn't as strong as he wanted it to be. He could tell that he wasn't making it very far, and he was anxious to get home to Kurt. He missed his lover. Too much time had passed since he'd left home, and he was afraid that Kurt had moved on.

Blaine thanked his lucky stars more than once for his brother as he trudged through the moonlit nights. If it wasn't for his brother, he'd be dead, his body stuffed in an ungodly heap in the middle of Argent somewhere. He was thankful, not only for his brother saving his life, but also for the food, water, and what he'd discovered to be a crudely drawn map. Though it was difficult to see in the pitch blackness of night and was lacking a great deal of detail, Blaine appreciated the effort. His brother had helpfully included landmarks, and Blaine felt relatively confident that he was headed in the right direction. Sometimes, that is. Other times, he felt like he was wandering in circles, passing the same trees and rocky hills that he had the night before.

His suspicions were all but confirmed one night just before dawn. It had been roughly four days since he'd made his escape. He was just crowning a hill when he heard shouting from nearby. Quickly, he ducked behind a large tree, hoping no one had seen him. He tried to slow his ragged breathing. He needed to be silent if he was going to hide so conspicuously. Unfortunately for him, his stomach wasn't getting the memo. Despite doing his best to conserve it, he'd run out of the bread from Cooper on his second day. He'd tried to supplement the bread with anything he could find to eat as he traveled, but it was hard to see in the dark, so his meals were few and far between. He'd definitely lost weight since his departure from Hucal, and he wondered if Kurt would notice.

Willing his stomach to be quiet, he sucked in a deep breath. He could hear the smattering of hooves against the packed ground; they were getting closer. The voices were louder, but he still couldn't make out anything they were saying. He had no way of knowing if they'd seen him or not. That is until he peeked out from behind the trunk to see one of the soldiers looking directly at him.

It was almost as if the man, a soldier from Argent, hadn't registered what he was looking at yet. He was staring right at Blaine, mouth open, no sound coming from his lips. As soon as Blaine began to run, the man shouted, “Chase him!”

Blaine's heart was beating so fast he thought something might be wrong. The mixture of fear and physical exertion was tiring him out too quickly for him to be chased for long and still be able to get away. So, he decided he had to find a way to hide. The only problem was, there were few rocks out there, the trees were spread out, and many of them were small, too small to make much of a difference if he climbed them. So, he kept running, glancing back over his shoulder every few moments to see if he was still being followed.

Many of the Argent soldiers had given up, but a few of them still trailed after. One man, in particular, seemed to be gaining on him, so Blaine began to weave. Back and forth he ran, his angles wide and sharp. He hoped that the soldier would grow tired of chasing him, decide it wasn't worth it for one enemy prisoner, and leave him be. That took much longer than Blaine had originally thought. He felt like he must have run a mile before the man began to slow, growing smaller and smaller each time Blaine turned to look behind himself. He didn't stop running until all of the soldiers were well out of sight.

Finally, he collapsed on the ground, wheezing, his breath coming in short, choppy, desperate gasps. He clutched at his stomach which now felt queasy. He certainly wasn't hungry anymore. That thought almost made him chuckle, but when he tried, his chest burned. After a few minutes of lying on the ground, he remembered the flask he'd been able to fill up at the creek just a few hours before the chase. Gratefully, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out, lifting it to his lips. He breathed a tiny sigh of relief as the cool water touched his lips. He took little, measured sips, finally finding the strength to look around.

The area he'd run into was probably one of the worst spots to end up, he decided, especially in the daylight. All around him was open-air, a prairie of rolling green grass and blue sky. There were no trees nearby, no rocks to slip behind if someone was coming. He was completely out in the open and exposed.

After a few more moments of merciful rest, Blaine climbed to his feet. He needed to get out of this clearing and into a wooded area, or at least somewhere he could be well-disguised as he slept. His arches and toes protested with a fierce burn as he stood, slowly making his way toward a grove of trees. As he walked, he became more aware of his aches and pains. He wished again for home, for a nice warm bed, mostly, though, for Kurt.

Kurt. The excitement he was feeling at the prospect of seeing his boyfriend again was the only thing that kept him going sometimes. If he ever felt too exhausted to go on, he would look up at the sky, see the stars, and imagine himself cuddled up against Kurt in the forest, just like they had done on their first night together. He could almost feel the Prince's warm, firm body beneath him, their chests rising and falling in rhythm together, their breathing in sync. A large, dopey grin always came across his face whenever he thought about Kurt, and this morning was no different. He could see Kurt's beautiful smile shining down on him as h--

Suddenly, Blaine felt himself being hurled through the air, something rough holding tight around his ankle. There was a snap, and he found himself dangling upside down. Glancing up toward his feet, he found a rope securing one of his ankles to a branch far above his head. He tried to twist himself down. No luck. He tried to pull vigorously on the rope. Nothing. He even tried throwing himself downwards to get rid of the rope, but nothing worked. In fact, the more he wriggled and struggled, the tighter the rope around his ankle seemed to be. A frustrated sob escaped his lips as he gave up, hanging upside down from the branch, all his blood rushing to his brain, already beginning to form a tension headache. Silently, he cursed whatever being may exist in the sky somewhere. Why did this have to happen? He'd been so close to home, and now he was stuck!


	11. Distance and Determination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for forced labor in this chapter.

A few days after the King's demand that Prince Kurt choose a partner, Kurt was preparing for the final ball. His hands shook as he stared at himself in the mirror. His face was blotchy from crying off and on throughout the day. His manservant had long since left him alone after dressing him in one of his finest suits. At any other time, Kurt would say that he looked dashing. Today, nothing about his appearance could make him feel any less miserable. He already felt like he was betraying Blaine, and he hadn't even made eye contact with another man yet.

“Ready?” The Prince's manservant stuck his head into Kurt's chambers. “The other Princes and Princesses have already begun to arrive, Your Highness,” the man said with a deep bow.

Kurt squared his shoulders, preparing to head out. He glanced at himself in the mirror one last time. He still looked like he'd been crying, but maybe that could work to his advantage for a while, give him time to scan the room and find someone he might like to talk to. “Ready,” he replied, straightening his posture. In the back of his mind, he whispered a silent plea to Blaine.  _ “If you're still alive somewhere out there, just know that I don't mean to do this to you. It's only because I have to. I still love you; please, come home.” _

The Prince followed his manservant down the hallway, a few flights of stairs, and then swept into the ballroom, his confidence building with each step. He could do this. He could pretend. He had been pretending for the last several months to be okay on the outside while inside, he was slowly dying without his love. Nothing was official until the wedding was over. Even though he told himself it was silly, he stored away a little hope in the back of his mind that it would never come to a wedding and that Blaine would return to him soon. Just to keep himself sane, he would allow himself to hope he decided as his eyes scanned the room. Without hope, he would have no chance of pleasing his father.

Kurt noted that the usual crowd was in attendance tonight. The scrawny Prince Chandler roamed about the room, sidling up to any man he could find and promptly chatting his ear off about nothing at all. Princess Mercedes was standing off to the side in another stunning ball gown. She and Kurt had actually started to become friends, and when he caught her eye for a moment, she gave him a small wave. Princess Rachel was already pestering Prince Finn who looked as though he would rather be anywhere else but with her. Even from across the room, Kurt could tell he wasn't listening to her. If the Prince wasn't such a big oaf, Kurt thought he would probably go over there and rescue the poor Prince. He did have a cute face, and he was tall.

With a loud sigh, Kurt let his eyes run over the rest of the room. He didn't see anyone new or exciting this evening, and he was just going to have to—oh. Suddenly, his eye caught a tall, dark stranger he hadn't seen before. The Prince had deep brown hair, cut short. He had facial hair, a mustache, and a hint of a beard. That wasn't usually a look Kurt preferred, but on this man, it worked. He seemed to be alone, standing off to the side with a drink in his hand, watching the crowd with one eyebrow turned up. Shadows hid many of his features, but Kurt thought the man looked stunning. He took in a deep gulp of air and cleared his throat, preparing to walk over and talk to him. Kurt wasn't sure that the stranger was the type he'd like to spend his life with, but at least he would probably make for better conversation than any of the other men here.

“Hello,” Kurt squeaked when he was standing next to the stranger. Damn his nerves. He tried again, clearing his throat first. “Hello.” There. That was better.

The stranger looked his way, an amused smile on his face. “Hello,” the stranger replied.

“I'm Prince Kurt of Hucal,” Kurt told him, extending a hand.

“Prince Elliot. Of Gilba.” He turned his attention back toward the ballroom floor and took a sip of his drink. He seemed unaffected by Kurt's presence.

“Um, Gilba? I don't think I've heard of it. Where is it located?” Kurt asked, trying to engage the other Prince in conversation. He didn't really care where Gilba was, but that was all he had to work with right then. The hand that he'd offered the Prince slowly dropped to his side. The tall, dark stranger seemed to have no interest in taking it.

Prince Elliot sighed, making eye contact with Kurt again. “It's west of Argent. We're fresh allies.”

Kurt nodded, at a loss of what to say.

“You don't have to speak with me,” Elliot went on, looking away again. “I know this ball is supposed to be for you to find a partner. I doubt you'll find one here.” He gestured vaguely to himself.

“And why not?” Kurt asked. “Are you not interested in me? Am I ugly or boring or something?”

“Not at all,” Prince Elliot said, that bemused smile creeping back onto his face. “It's just your father will never go for it. The relationship with my father is too rocky; he'll tell you to pick someone else. Don't waste your time.”

“Well, I happen to enjoy making my father upset,” Kurt told him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Especially right now.”

“And why's that?”

“I'm mad at him,” Kurt explained. “He's forcing me into this when I'm not ready, and on top of that, he’s threatening me with an arranged marriage if I don't find someone tonight.” He didn't tell Elliot that most of his resistance was because he'd already found his partner; he kind of liked the Prince and didn't want to risk losing him as a friend or ally right then. He was edgy and clearly had an attitude.

“Arranged marriage, huh?” Elliot mumbled, glancing at the dance floor before looking back at Kurt. “Well, how do you feel about dancing with me? That will show him!”

Kurt chuckled and grinned. “I'd love to dance,” he said.

“Great!” Elliot set his cup down on a small table nearby, grabbed Kurt's hand, and led him to the dance floor.

Kurt couldn't help the little rush of excitement that went through him as he followed along behind Elliot. It actually made him feel guilty, the rush he was getting from having a man pay attention to him. He felt like he was letting Blaine down, cheating on him. He tried to push past the feeling, though. There was nothing he could do about it; Blaine wasn't here, and his father was going to force him to marry someone soon. He would rather do it his way and have a say in who he married. So, he decided to try to have a nice evening with Elliot. He knew Blaine would want him to be happy.

Their evening together really was wonderful. Elliot was as good a dancer as he was a conversationalist, and Kurt couldn't keep the little smile he wore off of his face the whole night. The two Princes laughed and chatted the whole evening, and by the time they realized how late it was getting, all of the other guests had already left the ball.

“Well, that was fun,” Kurt said, gazing at his feet. It was a feeble attempt to fill the silence, he knew, but he really didn't want their time together to be over. Once it was, he knew he would feel guilty for not waiting for Blaine, and he really didn't want to think about his soulmate right then.

“It was,” Elliot agreed. He watched something in the distance as the two stood on the balcony together beneath the stars. The silence stretched on for some time, neither boy feeling awkward but both feeling as though they should say something. Finally, “Kurt, I--”

“Um, Elliot--”

The two spoke at the same time. Grins grew across both their faces, and they laughed.

“Please, go ahead,” Kurt told him.

“Alright,” Elliot agreed. He gulped in a breath of air. “Kurt, I-I know we only joked about this earlier, but I was wondering...” He paused again, unsure of how to say it. “I guess I just, well, you know the whole—will you marry me?”

The sentence was so choppy and rushed that Kurt wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. He opened his mouth to say something, but Elliot swiftly cut him off.

“Y-you don't have to respond. Or say yes. Ever. I-I just thought maybe you'd want to avoid the whole..arranged marriage...thing.” He shrugged.

Kurt thought he was going to say something else, but when silence prevailed, he spoke up. “Elliot, I..well, before I say anything in response to that, there's something you should know. I, well, I'm in love with someone else.” Before Elliot could protest, Kurt held up a hand. “He's, um, he's not a royal. I mean, he is, but...it's a long story.” He paused for a moment to make sure he had his emotions in check before continuing. “He had to fight in the war against Argent, and he hasn't returned. My-my father knows, and he isn't happy about it; he doesn't understand. He's forcing me to marry anyway.”

Elliot nodded, not sure what to say.

“I love this boy dearly,” Kurt explained, shifting. “But, I don't know if I can keep holding out hope that he’s alive and will return to me.” That sentence hurt more than he thought it would, so he took a second to compose himself. “You seem like a really nice guy. I know we don't know one another very well, but I—I'd like to. So, yes, I'll marry you.”

Elliot was quiet for a long time. Finally, he glanced at Kurt from the corner of his eye. “I guess it's settled then,” he said, his voice hushed. “I'm sure our parents will be thrilled.”

Kurt felt a dash of sadness shoot through his body. Elliot didn't seem to be happy anymore, and Kurt couldn't say that he blamed him. “I know I ruined our evening with that story,” he said, placing a gentle hand on Elliot's arm. “I just wanted you to know that it's going to take me a little time to really move on.”

“Do you believe that you could love me someday?” Elliot wanted to know.

Swallowing hard, Kurt replied, “Yes. I do. I'm not giving up hope on us.” He patted the other Prince's hand.

Elliot nodded. “Good night then, Kurt,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on the Prince's cheek. “I'll see you at the wedding.”

“Good night, Elliot,” Kurt whispered, watching as the other man stepped back inside, strode across the ballroom, and stepped out into the inky night, headed for home. Standing on the balcony, he gazed up at the stars again. 

“I'm sorry, Blaine,” he said quietly. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I just...I don't know what to do. My father is pushing me, and...and I don't think I have any other choice.” A silent tear rolled down his cheek as he spoke. “If you're still out there, just know that I'm so, so sorry. Come home to me before it's too late.” He stopped, waiting, as if Blaine's voice would be carried to him across the wind, forgiving him for romancing the evening away with another man. His ears were met only with silence, though. So, he said, “I will always love you, Blaine. Always.” Then, he turned and made his way back inside. He needed to get out of those clothes and into his bed. He felt horrible, dirty, and confused. Nothing would make him feel better than a good cry.

“Did you find someone?” his father's voice asked him as he strode down the hallway toward his chambers.

Turning on his heel, Kurt looked back at his father. “I did,” he confirmed, eyes red from unshed tears.

A giant grin lit up the King's face. “Who?” he asked.

“Prince Elliot. Of Gilba.”

“Gilba? Our newest ally?” King Burt cried, delighted. He strode down the hallway and pulled Kurt into a tight hug. “My boy,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder roughly when they parted. “That's a good business deal! You'll make a fine King one day.” The hand on Kurt's shoulder shook the Prince for a moment before he let go. “Get some rest,” the King commanded, turning back the way he'd come. “We have a lot of planning to do!”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt replied, voice barely audible. Then, he nearly ran down the hallway to his chambers, shutting the door firmly behind him. He changed out of his clothes as quickly as he could, not bothering to pick them up off of the floor or wash his face before throwing himself face down on the bed and sobbing. This engagement was already killing him inside, and it wasn't even an hour old.

Poor Blaine. That was the only thought running through the Prince's head. Poor Blaine. He was betraying him. The necklace Blaine had given him before he left felt like a hot poker against Kurt's skin. He wanted to rip it off, but the thought of not having it on burned worse than wearing it did. Blaine didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve for Kurt to give up on him, but that's exactly what Kurt was doing, wasn't he?

This self-torture of Kurt's continued deep into the night. He couldn't control the tears and the sobs shaking his slight frame. Finally, mercifully, after nearly an hour, he fell into a restless sleep, his face red and blotchy against his soggy pillow. If the engagement night was this bad, he thought to himself as he drifted off, how much worse was their wedding night going to be?

* * *

Blaine had no idea how long he hung upside down in that tree, but he didn't care. He felt awful. All of the blood rushed to his head, and the building pressure there made him feel like he had a bad head cold. His noggin was pounding, his face felt hot, and by the time someone mercifully cut him down, he was certain that his eyes were going to pop out of his face at any moment. After the adrenaline-inducing fall that he hadn't been expecting, he lay panting on the grass below the tree branch, staring at the trees above him for a few moments. 

“Thank you,” he finally managed to get out, glancing in the direction of the person standing nearby, his vision still blurry from being upside down so long.

“Welcome,” came the rough voice. “Not often I catch a man in my traps. Where you from, son?”

“Um,” Blaine hesitated, not sure if he should tell the old man the truth. He wasn't sure how far outside of Argent he was. Finally, he decided to just tell him. If the man decided to try to take him prisoner, Blaine thought he would be able to put up a decent fight. “Hucal,” he said finally, watching the man's face for his reaction. “I was a prisoner in Argent, just trying to get home.”

The old man nodded. “I see.” He stuck out a hand to shake Blaine's, adding, “Good thing I'm a Hucal sympathizer; you're not too far from the city you're tryin' to get away from.”

Blaine grimaced. He'd guessed as much.

“How long you been on the run?” the old man asked, bending down to collect what was left of the rope that had caught Blaine, his knife and a few other possessions he'd dropped.

“A few days,” Blaine replied, struggling to his feet. His head was still pounding and his legs felt a little bit wiggly, but overall, he was doing much better now. “I really need to get home,” he said, following along after the stranger as he headed out of the grove of trees. “I've got—there's someone waiting there for me. How far out are we?”

“A good couple days walk,” the old man said, stopping at a rickety-looking cart drawn by a donkey. “Could take longer if you're hidin' from Argent soldiers, though. They're still out makin' their rounds, lookin' for stragglers.”

Blaine gulped. That wasn't good news.

“I tell you what,” the old man started, hoisting himself up onto the cart seat. “You come on back to the house with me. I'll fix ya up some food, give ya a spot to rest. You do a few chores for me, and I'll take ya to Hucal on the cart.” He patted the bench beside him. “Won't take ya nearly as long if yer ridin' with me.” He patted the bench again. “Come on up.”

“Thank you!” Blaine said, swinging onto the seat next to the man. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” He flashed the old man a grin, feeling his heart fill with hope at seeing Kurt again.

The old man smiled back. “Ha!” he called to the donkey, slapping the reins against its back. Then, he stuck a hand out to Blaine. “Name's Leofstan,” he told Blaine. “But my friends call me Leo.”

“Blaine,” the boy said, shaking Leo's hand firmly.

The two of them rode together in silence, Blaine thinking about how nice it was to finally be out in the sunshine. It had been ages since he'd really enjoyed it. The last few months, the sun had meant the dawning of a new day on which his company would be marching or fighting. Then, he went nearly three months without seeing any sun at all. After that, the sun became a signal to hide as he was trying to run from Argent. Now, he could enjoy it. In fact, it was making him sleepy, and Blaine realized just how bone-tired he was. He hadn't slept well in months, and it was more than beginning to show.

It didn't take long for Blaine and Leo to roll up to a shack that matched the condition of the little cart they were riding on. It was tucked back into a little alcove in a grove of trees.

“Home, sweet home,” the man said, hopping down from the cart. “Welcome.” He swept his hand through the air in front of him. “She ain't much, but she's mine.”

“It's nice,” Blaine complimented, not wanting to hurt the poor old man's feelings.

“Go on in,” Leo invited, unhooking his donkey from the cart. “There's soup in the pot over the fire. Help yourself. I'm just gonna take Lady to her stall, brush her down and feed her.”

“Thank you,” Blaine said, hopping down and heading for the front door. He was hungry, but he was more exhausted than anything. Still, he went inside and, finding a bowl tucked away into a cupboard, he ladled himself a bowl of the soup, sniffing appreciatively at the warm broth. He hadn't had a hot meal since before he left Hucal. Quickly, he slurped down the soup before finding a comfortable spot on the floor next to the fire. He stretched out his sore muscles, sighing deeply. Even the floor of this man's shack was more comfortable than the rocks he'd been sleeping on. It didn't take long before Blaine was passed out on the floor, snoring softly.

* * *

“Hey! Get up!”

Blaine jolted awake as someone roughly jostled him.

“Get up!”

“Whe—where am I?” he asked groggily, rubbing his face to clear his vision. “What—what's going on?”

“You've been asleep for an entire day,” came a rough voice.

It took Blaine a few seconds to recognize the sound. “Leo?” he asked.

“Yeah. It's me. You need to get up, son.”

Blaine yawned, stretching. “I've been asleep for a whole day?” he asked. This was surprising. He'd known he was tired, but he hadn't felt THAT tired.

“Nearly. It's just past dawn now,” Leo said. “Coffee?” he asked, pouring his own steaming mug.

“No,” Blaine replied. “Thanks, though.” Coffee was never something he'd preferred, but the thought of drinking it now made him want to vomit.

“Suit yourself,” the old man shrugged, taking a sip from his own cup. “We've got a busy day ahead of us. I need your help doing some chores around here so we can go to Hucal.”

Blaine nodded; that seemed fair. “What do we need to do?”

“You ever worked a farm?” the old man asked.

“I used to work for a farmer, before the war,” Blaine answered, gazing into the small fire. He didn't like to think about Farmer Wilkie.

“Good. Good. We need to pick us some crops to take to Hucal to sell.”

“How long will that take?” Blaine asked, nodding his agreement to the work.

“Should just be today,” Leo said. He rose, stirring something in the pot over the fire. “Grits is ready,” he said, spooning some into a bowl and handing it to Blaine. “Eat up.”

Blaine took the bowl gratefully just as his stomach growled. He'd gone nearly 24 hours without eating. Anything would taste good at this point.

Leo hurried the two of them through breakfast then hustled out to his fields. He soon had Blaine cutting wheat, bundling it, and throwing it into the cart behind Lady. They worked at it most of the day, and by the time they were finished, it was nearly dark.

Blaine followed the old man back toward his shack, his mind wrestling with the irritation and gratefulness he felt for Leo. On one hand, the old man was feeding him and giving him a place to sleep. On the other, he had hardly helped in the field today. He'd spent much of his time talking to and petting Lady. For the few minutes he was in the field, he was checking a few of the wheat bundles Blaine had made, not actually helping to cut or bundle himself. Blaine felt a bit like the old man was using him, but he didn't want to complain. Instead he asked, “Did we bundle enough to take to Hucal?”

“Should be,” the old man said, leading Lady up next to the small building he called her stall.

“Will we be going tomorrow? To town?” Blaine asked, hovering, unsure if he should be helping the old man with anything else.

Leo grunted, “Yep. Go on in. I'll be in soon.”

Blaine obliged, stretching out on the floor next to the fire again and promptly falling asleep. The next morning, he was roughly woken again with a boot in his side.

“Get up,” Leo hollered at him. “Get up. We've got work to do.”

“What are we doing today?” Blaine asked, confused. “I thought we were going to Hucal.”

“Need more crops,” Leo answered, passing him another bowl of grits. “Eat up.”

Frustrated, Blaine ate, not voicing his displeasure but feeling far less generous than he had the day before. This was the second time Leo had made it sound like he was going to be taking Blaine home before yanking the rug out from beneath him. “I thought you sai--” he started.

“I counted up the bundles,” Leo explained between bites. “Don't quite have enough to make a profit.”

Blaine wasn't sure how to argue against that. “Fine,” he said, polishing off his bowl. “Let's get going.”

Somehow, the curly-haired Prince managed to get through two more days with the old man, constantly being strung along, made to believe that Leo just needed a little more help before they could leave for the city. However, on that fourth night, as they made their way back toward the shack, Blaine couldn't take it anymore. The old farmer hadn't helped in the field again that day. Instead, he'd napped in the back of the cart on top of a few of Blaine's bundles of wheat. So, angry, he asked Leo in a loud voice, “Are we going to Hucal tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” the old man began. “I jus--”

“You've used that excuse for four days now!” Blaine all but shouted. “I helped you because you were giving me food and a place to sleep, but you don't even help. I don't think you have any intention of taking me to Hucal!”

The old man spun around, fixing Blaine with a glare. “I have helped you, kid,” he growled, angry. “I gave you food. I let you sleep. I'm gonna give you that ride. You owe me.”

“I think I've more than paid my debt,” Blaine said darkly. “I don't need your ride.”

“You'll get caught,” the old man warned. “Stay a few more days, help me on the farm, and I'll give you a ride.”

“No! I'm leaving. Now!”

“It's almost dark!”

“I don't care.” And with that, Blaine took off, heading in any direction that wouldn't lead to the old man and his shack or his precious donkey, Lady. He had no idea if he was going the right way, but it didn't matter. He would figure out where he was. He was going home, going back to Kurt. And he wasn't going to stop again. Nothing was going to get in the way of getting back to his soulmate.


	12. Coming Home

Today was his wedding day. It was only five days after their engagement, and Kurt found himself sitting in his chambers as the castle servants bustled all around him. Some of them were getting him dressed, doing his hair, and generally making him look gorgeous. Others were scurrying about, filling his bed with rose petals, setting out candles, and bringing in flowers to make the room look beautiful for himself and Elliot.

Kurt knew he should be happy. He was getting married, and it was a day he'd dreamed of since he was a small boy. However, he was feeling anything but happy. It had been confirmed, just a few days before, that all the soldiers suspected to still be alive had returned home. The one man not among them? Blaine.

In the days since the news, Kurt had spent any of his free time not devoted to the wedding or attending meetings with his father looking for Blaine. He'd checked with all the King's advisers who had been in charge of marking in the soldiers returning. No one had Blaine's name on their lists. He went by Farmer Wilkie's house to see if Blaine was working the fields. No sign of him. There was no sign of life at all, Kurt realized, grinning to himself. He'd had the farmer imprisoned for debts to the throne shortly after Blaine left. Apparently, the farmer was still rotting in his cell. He walked past Blaine's mother's house to see if his soulmate was there. He hadn't been, but Kurt was pleased to see that Blaine's mother seemed to be doing well. The small amounts of money he'd left on her doorstep once a week since Blaine's departure must have been enough to keep her going. He waited anxiously on his balcony every morning to watch for his Prince to come and draw water. Nothing.

The morning of his wedding, after spending a large chunk of the sunrise hours on his balcony watching for Blaine, Kurt had realized that he needed to give up hope. Blaine wasn't coming home. Kurt was sure he'd done his best, but despite his promise, he hadn't made it off of the battlefield. It broke his heart to imagine his soulmate lying dead somewhere, his beautiful eyes closed forever in sleep. And despite realizing that this had to have been what happened, Kurt couldn't stop himself from being sad about it. So sad, in fact, that at random points throughout the morning, he broke into noisy tears.

“What's wrong, Your Highness?” his manservant asked him as he broke into another round of tears. “You can tell me. I won't tell your father.” The servant put a hand on his shoulder gently.

“It's...it's nothing,” Kurt said, sniffing hard, trying to stop crying. “I just—I need to be alone for a while.”

His servant nodded. “Weddings are emotional days,” he said comfortingly. “Take your time.”

“Thank you,” Kurt muttered, waiting until he was sure he was alone to bury his face in his hands as a fresh round of sobs overtook him. His shoulders shook; Kurt was sure he was never going to stop crying. “I'm going to have to cancel the wedding,” he whispered to himself. “I'm going to have to tell them I can't go through with it. I can't go into public looking like this.” He tried to calm himself, but nothing was working. Every time he got his tears under control, a new picture of Blaine, bruised and broken somewhere in a shallow grave would enter his mind, and a new wave of tears would start.

Finally, he decided he needed to get away. He needed to go somewhere he could get some closure, somewhere he'd be able to talk to Blaine and get it all out of his system so that he could move on. Glancing out the window, he was happy to see that he had some time. His wedding wasn't until dusk, and the sun was still high in the sky.

As quietly as he could, Kurt slipped out of the castle. He hoped that the villagers were so preoccupied with the wedding preparations that no one would recognize him as he escaped. The village of Hucal was buzzing with excitement today because their Prince was getting married, and the villagers were out in droves, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Prince or his new husband. Kurt hurried down the path toward the edge of town, a hat pulled low over his face to hide himself and a well worn generic cloak billowing around him to cover his wedding clothes. Thankfully, no one stopped him or gave him a second glance.

He scuttled quickly toward the woods where he'd dragged Blaine on their first night. The sight of Blaine's little cottage made Kurt's eyes watery, but he pushed on, not letting his gaze linger for too long. It didn't take him long to find their spot, a perfect little clearing in the woods, hidden from the view of any passing traveler on the path. It was the spot where they'd fallen in love, where they'd had their first kiss, where they'd admitted their feelings for one another. It was a spot that held so much meaning, a place he'd never be able to see without picturing Blaine there, wrapped around him as they talked and kissed. Because Blaine was gone, Kurt almost hoped he'd never see their perfect little spot again; admitting that made the Prince feel like he was killing a part of himself.

Kurt sank to his knees beside a fallen log, his head falling into his hands again as he cried. “Oh, Blaine,” he sobbed. “I'm so sorry! I-I should have done more. I should have kept you from leaving. I-I should have told my father about us an-and made you stay! I can't believe you're dead!” Nothing hurt worse than saying it out loud, and Kurt found he couldn't bring himself to talk anymore. So, instead, he leaned heavily against the fallen log and cried until his throat was dry, his body ached from being clenched so tightly, and his eyes stung. Just when he thought he couldn't cry any more, he heard a noise behind him that made his heart stop.

* * *

It was early, early morning when Blaine finally made it back to Hucal. The pinkest edge of the sun was just beginning to show when he crested a hill and saw the little town spread out before him. The castle stood tall and daunting in the hazy sky, its flags blowing in the gentle breeze. Blaine let out a small whoop, jumping forward and sprinting down the hill toward the village. He was home. Finally! He was home, and he had to find Kurt. Even if that meant bursting into the castle and announcing his undying love to anyone who would listen, he had to find him. It had been six long months apart, and Blaine couldn't take the loneliness any more. He didn't have any time to waste.

By the time he made it into Hucal, the villagers were already awake and bustling. Everywhere he looked, people were out on the streets. They seemed as though they had tasks to do, hustling here and there looking very important. However, Blaine couldn't tell that any work was actually being done. In fact, the longer he watched them, the more the villagers seemed to hurry from place to place just to stand next to someone new, whispering and pointing toward the castle excitedly.

“Um, excuse me,” Blaine finally said, stopping a younger man who was hurrying down the street. “Is there something happening at the castle today?”

“You don't know?” the man gasped, his hand flying to his heart in shock.

“I've just returned from the war,” Blaine explained. “Wha--what's going on?”

“The Prince is getting married!” the man announced, squealing. “He and his husband-to-be are getting married at dusk today!”

“Married?” Blaine's breath caught in his throat. “To...to who?”

“The Prince of Gilba! The Princes fell in love at the King's last ball. Isn't it romantic?”

“Th-thank you,” Blaine replied, walking away from the excited young man without answering his question.

Kurt was getting married? Blaine couldn't believe it. A part of him wanted to be mad at his lover. Blaine had promised to be back, and the Prince had sworn he'd wait. Now, Kurt was marrying someone else? Blaine also felt a great sadness bubbling up inside of him. He'd been gone a long time, longer than any of the other soldiers, he imagined. It had taken him almost two weeks to get home after he had abruptly left Leo’s shack. He couldn't expect Kurt to wait forever, and his Prince had no way of knowing that Blaine was making his way back. He'd been too slow. This was all his fault.

Blaine was going to cry. He could feel the tears prickling at the back of his eyes; his vision was beginning to swim as the waterworks began, large tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping into the dirt as he walked away dejectedly. He didn't know where he was going, but his feet instinctively took him down the path toward the place where he and Kurt had gotten to know one another.

The trail took him directly past his mother's cottage, and Blaine considered stopping for a brief moment. He knew his mother would be delighted to see him, and talking with her would take his mind off of Kurt and the wedding for a while. However, he couldn't stop crying, and there was no good way to explain that to his mother. She would want to know why he was sobbing. Blaine was a terrible liar, and he didn't want to talk about Kurt anyway. So, instead of stopping when he got to the cottage, he continued down the path toward their secret meeting spot, glancing longingly at his home. There would be time soon, he told himself.

Blaine trudged on up the path a while longer, his mind playing his first night with Kurt over and over again in his mind. He could just feel Kurt's hand in his own, dragging him along behind him so they could talk without being discovered. He could imagine the cool air of that night, the stars shining brightly above them. He could remember the way his heart had pounded in his chest, excitement and nerves competing for his attention as he'd followed along behind the Prince. It was funny; that night, walking along blindly behind a boy he'd just met, Blaine had had no idea how much that time would mean to him, how much that boy would mean to him. If only he could go back in time. If only he could tell himself that night and every night with Kurt after that their time was limited. If only he could let himself know that the night before he marched out of Hucal was the last night he'd ever spend with Kurt, maybe he would have done things differently. Maybe he wouldn't have tried so hard to make it home.

Blaine shook his head, chuckling at himself despite the despair he was feeling. Who was he kidding? He wouldn't change a damn thing. Even if he had known all those months ago that he would end up in tears, he would have done everything exactly the same. He loved Kurt; those nights they'd had together were the best nights of his life. Even if he could erase them to ease the ache in his chest, he wouldn't. They were too perfect.

Finally, he reached the spot where the trail cut to the left, and Blaine cut to the right, walking into the woods toward the small, intimate clearing where he and Kurt had first talked. As he walked, he could feel the sadness heaping itself higher and higher on his heart, weighing him down and making his chest burn. His eyes clouded with tears so heavily that he couldn't see anything. It didn't matter. His feet knew the way. Everything about this walk was familiar. Even the crunching of the fallen twigs and leaves beneath his feet was like a well-known lullaby to his ears. There was only one thing that was different. Blaine thought he could hear the sounds of sobbing coming from somewhere in front of him.

The crying grew louder the further Blaine walked. If it weren't for the tears leaking down his face, obstructing his vision, he probably would have turned around. He didn't want anyone else to see him like this. But, something in his body told him he should keep walking, so he didn't stop until he was standing at the edge of the clearing. It had grown much darker as he'd walked, and despite his blurred vision, he could tell that the shadows were beginning to grow in the trees around him. Maybe whoever was here wouldn't notice him.

Slowly, Blaine sank to his knees in the dead leaves, covering his face with his hands. He cried silently, visions of his beautiful Kurt's face dancing in his head.

Then he heard, “Blaine?”

His mind was playing tricks on him. He could have sworn that the voice belonged to Kurt. He picked his head up, trying desperately to wipe the tears from his face so he could see.

He heard it again. “Blaine?”

This time he was sure it was the Prince. “Kurt?” he asked, his voice raw from crying.

Suddenly, there was a body next to him. Someone had their arms wrapped around him, and they were sobbing into his shoulder, soaking his shirt.

“Blaine! Blaine!” came the voice again, this time whispered directly in his ear. “I thought you were dead. I thought you were gone forever, but you're here. You're home!” There was more crying, but the tone had changed into something far less devastated. This voice, Kurt's voice, sounded happy, excited, joyful.

“Kurt? Is it really you?” he asked, not wanting to believe it. “I thought you we--” 

He couldn't speak anymore. Warm, wet lips were on his, pressing firmly against his own, their touch hot as fire. Then, they were gone again, this time touching his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, his forehead.

“It's me,” Kurt murmured between kisses. “It's me. I'm here. You're here. I'm just...so...happy.”

Blaine laughed a watery chuckle, seeking Kurt's lips blindly with his own, his tongue slipping easily into Kurt's mouth when he found it, kissing him deeply with a passion that had been boiling ever since he'd left home six months before. His hands traced up and down the Prince's body, remembering the curves as exactly as they had been before he left: perfect. He ran his hands up and down Kurt's arms a few times, grasping at his hips to pull him closer, and groaned as their erections rubbed against one another. 

“I missed you so much,” Blaine managed to get out between kisses, keeping his hands firmly on Kurt's hips.

“I missed you, too,” Kurt replied, pulling Blaine's mouth back to his.

That was the last thing they said to one another before their clothes started to come off. First, it was shirts, and their warm, solid chests were pressing against one another as the kissing continued, deep and needy. Then, Blaine let his hands slide slowly into the waistband of Kurt's trousers, pulling them down until they puddled around his ankles. Wiggling his hips suggestively, Kurt stepped out of his wedding clothes, not caring a single bit that they were being trampled on.

Kurt was far less gentle with his movements. In one swift motion, everything that his lover was wearing was at his feet, Blaine’s body totally and completely bare for Kurt's hands to dance over, teasingly light and wonderfully sensual. “My turn,” he whispered heavily into Blaine's ear.

“Nievana va kerradun, salen aestar,” Blaine breathed, head thrown back with abandon, loving the way Kurt knew exactly how to touch him.

Starting at Blaine's neck, Kurt mouthed breathy kisses down to his navel, stopping at his nipple to lap gently until the bud was standing firmly at attention. Then, he kissed another line up to Blaine's other nipple, giving it the same attention.

“Uhhhhh,” Blaine moaned into the darkening sky. His body felt like it was electrified, every fiber of his being buzzing with desire and lust.

After returning to his navel, Kurt used his tongue to paint a wet line all the way around Blaine's belly button before kissing and nipping down to Blaine's cock. It was already hard and leaking droplets of pre-cum. Kurt took his time, planting several kisses around the base of it before working his way up the shaft and taking the head into his mouth, flicking his tongue in and out of the slit in the tip a few times. Then, he swirled his tongue around it until Blaine was moaning in earnest above him. Kurt kissed the tip of Blaine's cock, growling, “Anni,” before standing, turning a pleading face to his lover. “Get me ready?” he asked, grinding against Blaine's erection with his own.

Without saying anything, Blaine fell to his knees, turning Kurt around, and parted the perfect cheeks in front of him, using his tongue to tease Kurt's hole.

“Mmmm...” Kurt couldn't control the moan that escaped his lips as his virgin body felt the first intrusion of one of Blaine's fingers. The Prince had been afraid it would hurt, but he wasn't even concerned about that now. He was too focused on the fact that he was with Blaine, and, damn, everything felt perfect.

Blaine continued to work a finger in and out of Kurt until his Prince seemed to no longer feel any discomfort from it. Adding another finger, he worked him open more, being sure to keep everything wet and as pain-free as he could. He felt a little lost, unsure of exactly what to do. Based on the sounds that were coming out of Kurt's beautifully parted lips, he was doing fine. So, he kept at it, opening Kurt up until Blaine was sure he was stretched enough to accommodate Blaine’s size. Then, slicking himself up, he stood, lining up at Kurt's entrance and pushing in ever so slowly.

“Blaine.” The name escaped Kurt’s lips in a breathy gasp as he was filled with his lover's cock. He could tell Blaine was trying to be gentle, and he appreciated that. He, however, wanted more. So, experimentally, he tried pushing back against Blaine as the other man drove forward again. The action caused the pair to moan simultaneously, Blaine gripping Kurt's hips tightly as they began to rock in rhythm together.

The love making was over too soon for them both, as it had been six long months since either of them had felt this pleasure. Kurt, losing his battle to hold out until Blaine had finished in him, came with a moan. Blaine, after a few more deep thrusts, found himself emptying his load into Kurt's perfect ass. The shorter boy pulled out gently, and the two of them collapsed onto their discarded clothes on the forest floor, both panting from exertion, joy, and love.

They lay together for a long time, holding each other, running their hands over one another, enjoying the skin on skin contact. Neither one could imagine anything more perfect, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. The ringing of distant church bells broke the silence.

Kurt shot up like a rocket, his hands covering his mouth. “I-I'm--That's for my-The...”

“I know,” Blaine said gently, sitting up next to him and rubbing his back gently. “You're getting married.”

Kurt turned to look at Blaine, distraught. “I don't want to marry him! I don't want anyone else but you. Oh, Blaine!” He broke down again, tears beginning to fall from his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry! I didn't want to find someone else. I didn't want to get engaged. But, my father. My father told me I had to, or he would find someone for me. And I couldn't stand the thought of being forced to be with someone I hated. So...I...I did it. I danced with someone else, I spoke of love with someone else, I agreed to marry someone else. And, I'm so, so sorry!” Kurt didn't know what to do, so he flung his arms around Blaine's shoulders and sobbed against him, feeling like the worst person in the world. “I'm sorry,” he kept repeating over and over again. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

“Shhhhh,” Blaine responded, steady, gentle hands still rubbing at his back. “You don't need to be sorry. I know. I understand. You didn't know if I was coming back. You thought I was dead. And I nearly was. You just did what you thought you had to. I'm not mad at you. I don't hate you. I still love you, Kurt. I love you so, so much.”

There was a long silence after that, Kurt crying and Blaine doing his best to calm him down. It took a while, but finally, the tears tapered off again, and Kurt sat up, wiping his nose apologetically. “I love you, too,” he muttered. The church bells rang out again in the distance, and with a tiny smile, Kurt sniffed, “It's supposed to be my wedding day.”

“Maybe it still can be,” Blaine said, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “Stand up. Get dressed.” He rose, tossing the crumpled wedding garments they'd been partially sitting on at the Prince. He began to tug on his own clothing, hurrying Kurt along until they were both fully clothed. Then, he grabbed Kurt's hand and began to lead him through the trees toward the trail.

“Where are we going, Blaine?” Kurt protested, following along behind as best he could. “No one knows about us, and there are probably a million people out wandering around right now, looking for me.”

“You'll see,” Blaine replied, turning to give him a cheeky grin. “And don't worry. We won't get caught.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of the proposal were borrowed from canon. I do not wish to plagiarize anyone's work.  
> Translations:  
> ***Nievana va kerradun, salen aestar = Whatever you want, my love (Elvish)  
> ***Anni = Mine (Dothraki)


	13. Happy Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for stealing in this chapter.

“Really, Blaine!” Kurt protested, stumbling the last few steps to walk by his lover's side. “Where are we going? It's getting dark.”

Blaine paused, turning to look the Prince in the eye. “Kurt, while I was gone, so many things happened.” He gulped, trying to swallow the emotion bubbling in his throat so he could talk.

“Oh, sweetheart...” Kurt didn't miss the pained expression in Blaine's eyes. “Tell me about it. I want to know everything.”

“Kurt...I, well, the first thing I want you to know is that I missed you every day.” He squeezed Kurt's hand tighter for a moment. “You were what kept me fighting through everything that happened; I-I wanted to come home to you.”

Kurt smiled sweetly, searching his soulmate’s gaze. “I'm so glad you did,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” Blaine said. For a moment, the two just stared into one another's eyes, amazed that they were back together after all this time. Finally, though, Blaine squared his shoulders and began walking again. “We should get out of the woods before it's too dark to see,” he told Kurt. With another squeeze to his hand, he added, “I'll tell you along the way what happened while I was gone after we get out of the forest.”

Nodding, the two were quiet as they picked their way through the trees. It didn't take long until they emerged in the clearing. Open fields of grass and rolling hills spread out in front of them, and the moon shown a nice, gentle glow down on the star-crossed lovers. “Do you know where we are?” Kurt asked, hesitating.

Blaine nodded. “Don't worry, Kurt. We won't get lost.”

The Prince nodded once, trying to convince himself that what Blaine said was true, that they wouldn’t get lost, and began to walk with Blaine again. “Tell me what happened,” he said after a moment.

A deep sigh escaped the shorter boy's lips. “War is awful,” he said, his eyes growing distant. “It makes people do things that they wouldn't normally do.” Then, in a very tiny voice, he admitted, “Someone kissed me.”

“Who kissed you?” Kurt asked. He was surprised at his lack of anger toward this mystery person. He didn't like that someone had touched his boyfriend, but there was no anger coursing through his veins, just sadness.

“My Vintenar, Lord Smythe,” Blaine admitted. “That was the first really awful thing. It wasn't so much the being gone, because I could dream about you all night. Lord Smythe, however, made my life hell for a while, then he came into my tent almost every night and tried to kiss me.” Blaine grew very quiet again for a moment, then said, “But, he ended up saving my life.”

“I think that can be forgiven, then. The kissing I mean.”

“Yeah. Except that's how I got captured.”

“You were captured?!” Kurt felt his heart leap into his throat, his pulse quickening and not in a good way.

“Yes,” Blaine said. “I saw Cooper.”

“Your brother? Where?”

“In Argent. He works for the Queen.”

“How di-why didn't he come with you?”

Blaine shook his head sadly, and Kurt could tell that this was really eating him up inside. He knew by the way Blaine was acting that he wasn't getting the whole story from his soulmate either, but Kurt felt confident that Blaine would tell him more later. “He didn't want to be near your father,” Blaine admitted. “So, he stayed behind. Cooper saved me from dying.” There was a reverence in Blaine's tone, almost as if saying the words out loud would jinx what had happened. “They were going to behead all of the prisoners, and Coop saved me.” There was another squeeze to Kurt's hand.

Kurt wasn't sure what to say to that. How could he tell Blaine that he felt like he owed his entire world to Blaine's brother? An idea leaped into the back of his mind, taking root so quickly that he stopped dead in his tracks, causing Blaine to be yanked backward suddenly.

“Everything okay?” he asked, seeming to snap out of his trance to look his Prince in the eye.

“I know how we can repay Cooper,” Kurt said, grinning from ear to ear.

“How?”

“When we become Kings, we'll appoint Cooper as Lord over one of the regions of Hucal.”

Blaine's eyes lit up for a moment then fell again just as fast. “I don't know, Kurt. I don't think he'd accept it. Besides...” He trailed off for a moment. “Well, I don't want to ruin the surprise,” he whispered.

“What surprise?”

“The surprise of where we're going, what we're going to do!” He grinned widely at Kurt then, all traces of sadness he'd displayed while telling his story vanished. “I've been planning this the entire time I was away. Well, not this exact way. I only found out about this part today, but I've been dreaming of the rest of it since the day that I left. I really hope you li--” He didn't get any further because Kurt captured his lips in a sweet kiss that was soft and distracting. “Sorry,” Blaine murmured against his lover's mouth.

“Whatever you have planned will be perfect,” Kurt whispered before drawing back, planting his hand, which he had moved to Blaine's hip for balance, back into the shorter boy's hand. “What happened after you escaped?”

“Everything was going fine for a few days,” Blaine answered, resuming their moonlit walk. “I walked at night and slept during the day to avoid enemy soldiers. I think I ended up walking in circles, though, because I eventually ran into a caravan of them and had to run. And I ran right into an old farmer's hunting trap.”

“Did you get hurt?” Kurt asked, rubbing his thumb lightly over Blaine's knuckles as they walked.

“No. Not really. I was hanging upside for a while though and got a headache.”

“My poor baby,” Kurt murmured to him, gently kissing his thumb.

“He came and cut me down after a little while, took me back to his little shack in the woods, fed me, and let me sleep there. He told me he'd give me a ride to Hucal if I helped him with a couple of chores, but I think that was a lie.” He shook his head; he still couldn't make sense of what Leo had done. “Anyway, he made me work in his field for a few days, and every day he'd promise that we'd leave for Hucal the next day, but we never did.”

“So what did you do?” Kurt wanted to know.

“I ran off.”

“Alone?”

Blaine nodded. “I got lost again, but this time, I...well, first.” He stopped suddenly, turning to look at Kurt, grasping both of his hands tightly in his own. “Kurt Hummel,” he began, “when we first met, you took my hand and dragged me out into the forest. I'd never held anyone's hand before, but I wanted to hold yours; I think my soul knew...” He paused, running his thumbs over Kurt's knuckles. “The more we talked, the more I felt like I was remembering you from a dream. You were so familiar, like someone I had known in a different life and was getting to know again.” His voice grew quiet, husky, as he said, “I'm just so glad I found you, and that after all this time and all that distance, I get to hold you again. I want to spend forever holding you, loving you. So, my Prince, will you marry me?” As he asked, he fell to one knee in front of Kurt, letting go of one of his hands to produce a small, reed-woven band seemingly from nowhere.

Kurt let out a gasp, his now free hand flying to his mouth. “Blaine, I—yes!”

It was barely more than a whisper, but it was the sweetest, most beautiful sound that Blaine had ever heard. Ever so gently, he slipped the ring onto Kurt's finger before standing up again. “Do you like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” Kurt said, sighing happily as he stared at his finger. “It's perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Then, he asked, brow furrowing, “But where did you get it?”

“After I left the crazy farmer, I wandered around a bit, trying to get home. I bumped into a little old clergyman whose donkey had fallen and hurt itself and couldn't carry his packages anymore. He asked me for help, told me he would happily do something for me in return. So, when we got back to his cottage, he told me how to get home. I told him about you, how much I love you and missed you. He gave me some clean clothes," Blaine went on, gesturing to the simple cotton shirt and trousers he wore, "helped me wash my hair and shave. Then, he gave me this ring, and I asked him to marry us. That's where we're going now.” He beamed at his lover, now fianc é , proudly.

“It's perfect. You're perfect. This whole evening is perfect.” Kurt pecked Blaine on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Kurt hopped up and down on the balls of his feet excitedly. “Let's go get married,” he cheered, grinning widely.

“Come on then,” Blaine smiled, pulling Kurt after him.

The boys picked up their pace after that, almost running at times as Blaine led them across the flat field, down a long hill, up a shorter one, and across more flat plains until they came to a tiny cottage at the edge of a grove of trees. There was light coming through the one window they could see, and they could smell a bit of wood smoke as they approached.

Blaine hurried to the front door and knocked several times. Inside, they could hear some banging then feet shuffling across the floor.

The door opened, and a little old man with a long beard peeked around the door. He looked at the two boys for a long moment before he seemed to recognize Blaine. “Blaine,” he said, the name spreading a smile across his face. “You came back. Come in.” He opened the door wider for them to enter.

There wasn't much inside the little cottage when the boys squeezed inside. There was a nice fire going in the fireplace which made the room a pleasant temperature and gave off a nice light. There was a small table and chair pushed into a corner and a sleeping mat on the floor in another corner. The little old man didn't seem to have any belongings, at least not any that Kurt and Blaine could see.

“You must be Kurt,” the old man said, extending a hand toward the Prince. “Blaine told me a lot about you.” He was very soft-spoken, and Kurt had to strain to hear what he was saying. “You're very special to him; he loves you very much.” He turned his blazing smile to Blaine. “I assume he said yes.”

In response, Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand and showed the old man the ring.

“Wonderful! Just wonderful!” the old man said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Well, are you ready?”

The ceremony was perfect. The boys stood, facing one another in front of the fire, hands clasped firmly between them. They looked into each others' eyes and professed their love for one another.

“Blaine,” Kurt began, tears welling up in his eyes. “I have loved you since the first day I laid eyes on you. When I saw you drawing water at the well, I knew you were the perfect man for me. And you've proven it every day since then. You make my life so full. You give me meaning, make me feel as bright as the sun. You treat me like a person, not like royalty, and I love you so much.”

There were huge tears rolling down Blaine's cheeks as he spoke in a wet voice. “Kurt, there aren't words to tell you what you mean to me. You are the reason I'm still alive, the reason I came back from the war. I never thought that I would find true love, but here you are. You're perfect and amazing and wonderful, and I'm so glad I found you. I love you. Forever.”

"Anni. Ha atthirar," Kurt whispered, smiling.

"Ath tel'quiet. Eath'she," Blaine replied softly.

“I now pronounce you husband and husband,” the old man declared. “You can kiss one another now.”

And kiss they did. Their lips smashed together in a kiss full of passionate desire. Their love filled the room with electricity that the old man could feel, one that had him grinning, as he had most of the night, from ear to ear. “Congratulations,” he told them. “I'm so glad to have been witness to your union. There's clearly so much love between you.”

“Thank you,” Blaine replied, shaking the old man's hand. “Really. I mean it.”

“Of course, my boy,” the old man replied. “Now go on. I'm sure the two of you want to spend some time together. Alone.”

Kurt grinned at his husband. “Let's go, my Prince,” he said, taking Blaine's hand. They walked out the door, glancing back once to wave at the old man who watched them walk away until they were out of sight.

“What do we do now, my Prince?” Blaine asked after they'd walked a little way.

“I'm not sure,” Kurt said, tapping his chin for a moment. “We can't go back to the castle, that's for sure. My father would never approve of our marriage. He'd try to have you killed.”

“Do you want to go home?” Blaine asked gently, stopping to make eye contact with his husband. “Will you miss it?”

Kurt thought for a moment. “No. I don't think I will. I love my father, and I love the castle, but I've always felt a bit out of place there.”

“Really?” Blaine asked, surprised.

“No one treats you like a person there,” Kurt explained. “All my life, I've been The Prince. I was expected to act right, order the servants around, and make decisions. I never had the chance to talk to someone as an equal. So, no. I don't think I will miss it. Besides,” he said, slinging an arm around Blaine's waist and pulling him close, “all I need is my husband now.”

The biggest smile Kurt had ever seen grew on Blaine's face, and before he knew what was happening, Blaine had planted a big wet kiss on Kurt's cheek. “My husband,” he said, chuckling to himself. “I can get used to that.”

“Me, too.”

There was silence for a bit as they walked together, Kurt's arm around Blaine's waist, Blaine's arm around Kurt's shoulders. “There is one thing that we might need,” Blaine said suddenly, looking at Kurt.

“What's that?” Kurt couldn't think of anything they could need that would be worth getting caught in the castle. There were things he'd love to have, but he could make do without them.

“A horse.”

Kurt didn't know what to say to that. Finally, he asked, “Why?”

“I don't know about you, but I don't want to have to walk everywhere for the rest of my life,” Blaine said. He’d done enough walking in the past weeks to last him the rest of his life.

“You're right. So, what do we do? Steal one?”

“I guess? I've never been on the wrong side of the law before.”

“Neither have I!” Kurt exclaimed.

“Do you think we can steal one? Without getting caught?”

Kurt thought for a moment then nodded. “If we go tonight, I think we could,” he said. “Everyone will be out looking for me. If anyone does see us, there will be no guards around to try to capture us. But we have to go tonight. As soon as possible.”

“Let's go,” Blaine replied, giving his husband one last kiss on the cheek before removing his arm from around Kurt's shoulders. The two boys took off at a jog, making good time back to the village. They stopped not far from the village edge to catch their breath and make a plan. “What do we do?” Blaine asked, breathless.

“You should create a distraction,” Kurt said, panting just a little. “While you've got the stable boys busy, I can sneak in a take the horse my father gave me for my ninth birthday, Celeste.”

“You have a horse named Celeste?” Blaine asked, smiling lightly at his husband.

“I was nine! Don't judge,” Kurt said, punching Blaine lightly in the arm.

“What do I use for a distraction?”

“Tell them that you think you might know where the Prince is, that you thought you saw me or something. Then, when they go to find someone to help you, I'll sneak in and get Cel—my horse.”

“And how will you stay hidden while I do that? We have to walk through the village! Everyone will see you, and you're still wearing your wedding outfit.”

“You're right.” Kurt sighed. He wasn't sure what to do, but their time was running out. More than anything, he just wanted to go off alone with his new husband. Blaine’s slightly sweaty, disheveled look was a huge turn-on for the Prince.

“Let's just walk in and take it,” Blaine said finally. “You're the Prince. They can't very well stop you.”

“Do you really think that will work, Blaine?” Kurt asked. “What if they get my father, and we get separated? I can't lose you again.”

“You won't lose me. You're my husband; I'm not leaving you again.”

Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine's, the hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Say that again. Say 'husband' again,” he breathed.

“Husband,” Blaine breathed, distracted by the soft lips just inches from his own.

“I love it when you say that,” Kurt whispered, touching a feather-light kiss to Blaine's lips. “The way you look, the way you talk to me. It's turning me on...” He leaned his pelvis into Blaine's just barely, letting him feel his arousal.

A breath caught in Blaine's throat, his pulse picking up speed. Desire lept throughout his body, but he shoved it away. “We don't have time for that right now,” he whispered. “As much as I would love to ravish you right here, right now, we don't have time. The longer we stand here, the more likely we are to get caught.”

“You're right,” Kurt agreed, giving Blaine one last kiss before pulling away. “Ready?” he asked.

“As I'll ever be,” Blaine agreed.

With that, the two of them ducked out of the woods and onto the path that led into the village. Kurt straightened his shoulders, walking as tall and purposeful as he could. Confidence was the only thing that was going to assure them a clean getaway.

Surprisingly, there was no one out and about as they walked through the little village of Hucal. The streets were dead, the windows were dark, and there was no sound save for the rustle of tree branches in the breeze. In no time at all, the Princes were at the royal stables. Unfortunately for them, the stable boys were wide awake, and one recognized Kurt right away.

“My Prince!” he cried, running up to the pair. “You've returned! The King will be delighted to hear this. He's been worried about you all day.”

“Do not tell the King about my arrival,” Kurt told him, strutting past. “We're here for my horse. We're not staying.”

The stable boy opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. Instead, he turned toward Blaine. “Who are you?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“That man is my husband, and you'll do well to leave him alone,” Kurt said, coming out of a stall with Celeste behind him.

“You're husband? My Grace, you were supposed to marry Prince Elliot, not this stranger.”

“This stranger,” Kurt said, turning a hostile glare to the stable boy, “is royalty. I will not stand for you to talk to him in such a manner.”

“Kurt, it's fine. Really. I--”

“Hey! I recognize you!” came a voice from the back of the stable. “You were in my company during the war. Lord Smythe said you were a fallen Prince or something. We all thought you were dead.”

“Blaine, let's go,” Kurt said. “Help me get up here.” He gestured to Celeste's back.

“The King wouldn't approve of this marriage, Your Grace,” the first boy said.

“Yeah. I think we should tell him,” the second one added, coming up to stand with him.

“Blaine! Come on!” Kurt begged.

Blaine was stuck to his spot, though. Seeing someone he'd fought with during the war and hearing them talk about Lord Smythe had brought back a cacophony of emotions, and Blaine was having a hard time dealing with them. At the sound of the shout for the guard, though, he sprang into action, running to Kurt's side and helping him clamber onto Celeste's back. Then, he climbed up, too, positioning himself in front of Kurt. “Hold on,” he told him as he spurred Celeste into action.

The horse barely had time to break into a trot before there were several guards in the stable, all of them shouting at once, pointing to Blaine and Kurt astride the horse.

“Ha, Celeste! Ha!” Blaine called to the startled mare, digging his heels into her flanks. “Ha!”

At his urging, the horse sprang forward, sprinting out of the stable and down the trail as Kurt and Blaine held on for dear life. Many of the guards ran after them, shouting and waving their swords, but nothing was stopping Celeste. She ran like the wind until Hucal was nothing but a tiny dot in the distance.

“Woah,” Blaine said to her, slowing her pace. “Woah, girl.” He rubbed affectionately at her neck as the horse began to walk, plodding slowly and breathing hard. “Are you okay?” he asked his husband, turning to look over his shoulder as best he could.

“I'm fine,” Kurt said, squeezing his arms tighter around Blaine's waist. “Just wondering where we're headed.”

“Does it matter?” Blaine asked, chuckling. “We're outlaws now, but as long as I have you, I have everything I need.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't matter,” Kurt agreed, chuckling. “You big cheese.” He squeezed Blaine again. “You're right, though. As long as I have you, I'm happy.”

“I would suggest we ride off into the sunset then,” Blaine said. “But I think we're a bit too late for that.”

“Or too early,” Kurt said. “Look.” He pointed to the horizon ahead where the pink of the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon.

“How about we ride off into the sunrise then?” Blaine asked, managing to snag Kurt's cheek with a gentle kiss.

“I'll follow you anywhere, Prince Blaine.”

“Into the sunrise it is, then, Prince Kurt.” And with a final 'Ha,' the boys took off to ‘anywhere’ on Celeste's back, snuggled happily together as the sun rose on their first full day as husband and husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Anni. Ha atthirar = Mine. For life. (Dothraki)  
> Ath tel'quiet. Eath'she = Mine. Always. (Elvish)


	14. Epilogue

On their second wedding anniversary, Blaine came home with flowers. He'd been out hunting early, and he waltzed in the door with a bouquet tucked behind his back.

“What are you hiding?” Kurt asked, turning around from where he'd been cooking in the giant kettle over the fire.

“Oh, nothing,” Blaine said, scuffing his toe against the dirt floor, a smile on his face.

“Uh-huh,” Kurt replied. “I don't believe you.”

“Fine!” Blaine handed over the bouquet with a flourish. “Here you are, my Prince.”

“Blaine, they're beautiful! Thank you!” Kurt sniffed the blossoms appreciatively before coming over to give him a peck on the lips.

“You know what today is, don't you?” Blaine asked. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“Of course I do,” Kurt replied, turning to find something to put the flowers in. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

“Happy anniversary,” Blaine replied, taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs at their table. “I was thinking about that first night in the woods while I was out hunting this morning. Do you remember it?”

“How could I forget?” Kurt finished arranging the flowers in a little cup of water before coming to sit down with Blaine and placing a hand on his knee. “I'm the one who came and pulled you out of your cottage in the middle of the night.”

“You grabbed my hand and just drug me away!” Blaine chuckled, his eyes taking on a dreamy, far-off look. “That almost seems like forever ago, doesn't it?”

“It seems like yesterday,” Kurt replied, rubbing his knee affectionately.

“Do you wish things were different? That we would have lived in the castle instead of here in the middle of the woods?”

“No. I'm very happy with the way everything turned out. Aren't you?”

Blaine sighed and shrugged. “I'm happy I got to marry you, but I always wanted to give you more. You don’t deserve to live out here in the wilderness, away from all of the things you were used to, because of me.”

“Hey, now,” Kurt said, hooking a finger under his husband's chin and turning his head to make eye contact. “I'm not living out here because of you. I'm living here with you. Because I love you, and this is how we are keeping one another safe.”

Blaine nodded. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know.”

“Are you completely happy?” Blaine asked, moving a hand to Kurt's on his knee. “Is there anything you wish you had?”

Kurt thought for a moment. “I guess only one thing,” he said slowly.

“What is it?”

Kurt sighed deeply, setting his chin before answering. “A baby.”

“Like, of our own?” Blaine asked.

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt chuckled. “A baby of our own. I don't want to share it with the other forest creatures.”

Blaine laughed. “No fawns or wolflings for you?”

“No. Human babies only, please. Thank you.”

Blaine thought for a moment. “You know,” he said finally, “I think we could make that work.”

“Make what work?”

“A baby.”

“Really. How are we going to get one? Neither one of us has the...right...parts...for that.” Kurt gestured at their bodies.

“Not sure about that yet. We could steal one.”

“Steal a baby? Blaine, that's crazy! Not to mention awful for the baby and its parents!”

“Fine. Fine. We won't steal one. Maybe we could just...find one?”

“Find one...” Kurt said, not sounding very convinced.

“I don't know!” Blaine said finally, exasperated. “But, I want one. I think you would be a good father!”

“I think  _ you  _ would be a good father,” Kurt countered, leaning in closer. “I have dreams sometimes about it,” he continued, lowering his volume to a whisper. “I imagine you outside, chasing our child around the cottage. The two of you play hide-n-seek or tag. The baby always has your smile, your laugh, and your beautiful eyes.” He gave Blaine's nose a boop.

“Really?” Blaine asked, voice husky and full of lust as he gazed into his husband's eyes. “What else do you see?”

“I can just imagine you rocking them at night, putting them to sleep in our bed, or giving them a bath. I can see you telling them wild stories about the war or the animals you saw on your hunting trips. I can imagine you telling them about your brother and your mother and all the fun you used to have when you were a little Prince.”

“And?” Blaine wondered, leaning in closer to Kurt so their lips were nearly touching.

“And,” Kurt went on, bringing a hand up to rest on the back of Blaine's head, “I can see me kissing you just...like...this...” He planted a soft, slow kiss on Blaine's lips. “And like this,” he whispered, giving him another one that was just slightly more firm. “And...like...this...” This time, there was no more talking as the boy's mouths met, tongues sliding together, fighting for dominance as the kiss deepened.

They didn't stay seated for long. Kurt rose, pulling Blaine up to stand with him, his hands pressing insistently at his hips as he pulled up the edges of his husband's shirt, fingers dancing over warm skin.

Blaine's hands moved from Kurt's waist to his back before sliding down into the back of his pants, fingers leaving little trails of fire everywhere they went, making Kurt breathless.

Not long after that, the two of them moved toward the bed they had fashioned in the corner. They collapsed on it, their mouths never parting. It was less crazed now, slowing to a sweeter, more passionate kiss as they caressed one anothers' skin.

“I know it won't work,” Kurt whispered after a while, “but do you want to try to make a baby?”

“More than anything,” Blaine replied before bringing his lips back to Kurt's. “Happy anniversary.”

* * *

Many happy years later, after children and old age, Kurt and Blaine settled down to sleep, side by side. They held hands, their foreheads pressed against one another as they drifted off. 

Suddenly, in Blaine's dream, he could see a wide, gray expanse. There was a glowing figure standing behind a podium, smiling. The figure held out a hand, beckoning Blaine toward him. So, cautiously, Blaine took a step forward.

He heard Kurt whisper from behind him, "I'm coming, my Prince," and Blaine glanced back at his soulmate. "I'll be there soon," Kurt whispered.

So, Blaine took another step toward the podium, never letting to of Kurt's hand. He felt like it took forever to get there, but when he did, Kurt was right beside him, still holding his hand. They were glowing now, too.

"Where would you like to go?" the figure asked them, pushing a book toward the two boys.

Kurt looked at Blaine and smiled, squeezing his hand. "Are you ready for another adventure?" he whispered.

"As long as I'm with you," Blaine murmured, and they turned their attention back to the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another huge thank you to JayhawkWrites and Riverance for their hard work on my story. Without them, I wouldn't have had such an amazing story to share with you all. I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Hucal soldier speaks Dothraki. Pamalyn speaks Elvish.
> 
> *Jin rakh = the boy (D)  
> **She hazze = in there (D)  
> *** Hush, salen lyth = hush, my child (E)  
> ****ni coronal = little king (E)


End file.
